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BV THE SAME AUTHOR 


A Group of Scottish Women. 

The Mother of Parliaments. 

The Bolster Book. 

Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. 
Ballads of the Boer War. 
Misrepresentative Men. 

Fiscal Ballads. 

Baby’s Baedeker. 

Perverted Proverbs. 

A Song-Garden for Children. 

More Misrepresentative Men. 
Misrepresentative Women. 

Familiar Faces. 

Deportmental Ditties. 


LORD 

BELLINGER 


AN 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


EDITED BY 

HARRY GRAHAM 



NEW YOKE ; 
EVFriBLD St COMPANY 

1911 


cSc. 


PZ>3 

..Or'IS'l''- 

Lio 

Aw/ 


Copyright, 1911 

BY 

DUPFIELD & COMPANY 


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IV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER pace 

Introduction 9 

I. Parentage 19 

II. Early Years 47 

III. Family Life and Friends ... 71 

IV. A Digression 89 

V. Bellinger Hall US 

VI. The Fire 145 

VII. Tw^o Campaigns 176 

VIII. Foreign Travel 219 

IX. The Return 246 

X. The Return {Continued) 267 

XI. Home Again 305 

XII. The End 326 

V 












INTRODUCTION 


I N this age of literary self-analysis a 
volume of autobiographical memoirs 
needs neither explanation nor apology. 
But a short time has elapsed since Mr. 
George Bernard Shaw heralded the ad- 
vent in the world of letters of a Super- 
tramp whose gift of prosody has already 
brought him a well-earned meed of fame. 
Soon afterwards, Mr. H. G. Wells, not 
to be outdone, acted as sponsor to a liter- 
ary bath-chairman whose biographical 
revelations caused a temporary stir in the 
peaceful backwaters of the Circulating 
Libraries. The popular appreciation ac- 
corded to the discoveries of Mr. Shaw 
and Mr. Wells supplies adequate proof 
of the interest which the British public 
will always take in personal reminiscences 
that are written with simplicity, sincerity 
and a complete lack of reserve. That this 
interest is not confined to the writings of 
vagrants and casuals may be gathered 


9 


LORD BELLINGER 


from the continuous publication of those 
absorbing volumes of memoirs which it 
is the habit of modern ladies of title to 
compile in their leisure moments. It is 
not too much to hope that this fashion of 
self-revelation, which exposes the most in- 
timate details of domestic life to the gaze 
of the public, may soon become universal. 

The House of Lords has but recently 
been the centre of a controversy unique in 
its violence and bitterness. This may 
therefore be considered a singularly ap- 
propriate moment for the publication of 
an autobiography written by one who may 
be rightly regarded as a thoroughly typi- 
cal member of that august and much 
maligned assembly. It was originally in- 
tended that this autobiography should be 
published anonymously. Indeed, Lord 
Bellinger was at one time anxious that its 
publication should be deferred until some 
time after his decease. He doubtless 
realised that his candid criticism of many 
of his nearest and dearest might prove un- 
palatable to thin-skinned or sensitive rela- 
tions, and, being himself a man of an 


10 


INTRODUCTION 


exceptionally tender heart, was naturally 
loth to hurt the feelings of his friends, at 
any rate during his own lifetime. Cir- 
cumstances have, however, arisen which 
render it possible to publish the memoirs 
without further delay, and it is to be 
hoped that their appearance will cause 
but little pain to those of Lord Bellinger’s 
acquaintance who may recognise their 
own portraits in these pages. (It may 
save trouble if I state that Mr. Bridgitt, 
of the firm of Bridgitt, Bridgitt and Ven- 
able, Lord Bellinger’s family solicitors, 
has submitted the MS. to the considera- 
tion of a legal expert who has pronounced 
the satisfactory opinion that although cer- 
tain passages might possibly be criticised 
as being in execrable taste, there is noth- 
ing libellous or actionable in the book.) 

The winter of 1910 will always be not- 
able as a period of intense and exceptional 
political stress. It culminated, as will no 
doubt be remembered, in a Constitutional 
crisis of unparalleled importance in the 
annals of English history. In November, 
we may recall, the House of Lords nobly 


II 


LORD BELLINGER 


responded to the demands of a clamorous 
Democracy. That passion for self-im- 
provement which had been slumbering 
for so many centuries, almost unnoticed, 
in the bosoms of the Peerage, burst forth 
into sudden flame. Within the brief space 
of a single week the Lords, with a celerity 
which evoked the admiration and wonder 
of the whole civilized world, resolved 
upon the adoption of a number of the 
most drastic measures of internal reform, 
involving the sacrifice of that hereditary 
principle upon which their whole exist- 
ence had so long depended. The sudden 
passionate desire to amend its constitution, 
displayed by the Upper Chamber during 
those momentous days of November, 
shamed even the bitterest opponents into 
silence, and it was universally admitted 
that men who were thus prepared to re- 
linquish at a moment’s notice all the rights 
and privileges for which their forefathers 
had bled and paid, for such countless gen- 
erations, must be moved by no ordinary 
spirit of disinterested patriotism and self- 
sacrifice. 


12 


INTRODUCTION 


It cannot, however, be denied that 
among the many Peers who were thus 
called upon to immolate themselves upon 
the altar of their Empire and their Party 
were a certain number of strenuous souls 
who viewed the idea of renouncing their 
legislative birthright with extreme reluct- 
ance. Of these perhaps the most promi- 
nent was Lord Bellinger. He was away 
hunting in Leicestershire when the news 
was brought to him of the surrender of 
that hereditary principle which he had 
always regarded as the salvation of Eng- 
land. He was not therefore able to take 
any personal part in the debate upon his 
leader’s startling reformatory resolutions 
until a week later, when there was a hard 
frost. He did not remain idle, however, 
but spent nearly the whole of one Sunday 
morning composing a masterly letter to 
the Morning Post in which he explained 
at some length the danger that would 
threaten England and the Empire if men 
like himself were no longer qualified to 
take part in the deliberations of the Up- 
per Chamber. “It will be a deplorable 


13 


LORD BELLINGER 


day for this country,” he wrote, “when 
the possession of large estates, often held 
by the same family for two or more gen- 
erations, shall no longer entitle land-own- 
ers to play the principal part in the gov- 
ernment of these islands. It will be a sad 
day for the Empire when the aristocracy 
of birth and wealth shall cease to repre- 
sent themselves in our Imperial Senate, 
and the composition of the Second Cham- 
ber is restricted to individuals whose only 
qualifications consist of some fortuitous 
intellectual eminence, or mere personal 
merit.” 

Lord Bellinger’s protests, alas! fell 
upon deaf ears, and when he discovered 
that he himself could not hope to find a 
seat in any House of Lords constituted 
upon lines so narrow and democratic as 
those foreshadowed by the leaders of the 
so-called Reform Movement, he very 
rightly determined that his country 
should be punished for her ingratitude, 
and, after selling his English property 
and disposing of Bellinger House, May- 
fair, bade farewell to the land which (as 


14 


INTRODUCTION 


he bitterly declared) seemed to have no 
further use for his services. 

Bellinger Hail became the property of 
Mr. Wilbur P. Balch, familiarly known 
in Chicago as the Chew-gum King, while 
Lord Bellinger’s London residence was 
acquired by a Limited Entertainment 
Company which proposes to convert it 
into an Electric Palace and Skating Rink. 

During his brief colonial tour, which 
he describes in these memoirs. Lord Bel- 
linger had been greatly attracted by the 
climate and scenery of Western Canada. 
When therefore he decided to cut himself 
adrift of all his old associations he took 
steps to purchase a large tract of land in 
British Columbia, and, after shaking the 
dust of England off his feet, emigrated to 
Vancouver, at the commencement of this 
year, taking his wife and infant daughter 
with him. Before leaving he handed me 
a packet containing this autobiographical 
sketch, and informed me that I was at 
liberty to publish it whenever I felt dis- 
posed to do so. It had been completed 
some months before the occurrence of that 


IS 


LORD BELLINGER 


Constitutional crisis which was the im- 
mediate cause of his emigration, and ter- 
minates therefore upon a suitably optimis- 
tic note. 

My own share in the production of this 
work is of the slightest, but should per- 
haps be made clear. As was becoming 
in a man of his social position. Lord Bel- 
linger enjoyed the privilege of a public- 
school education, and was afterwards 
brought up in a fashion suited to one des- 
tined from birth to undertake the respon- 
sibilities of hereditary statesmanship. He 
would therefore have been the last man 
in the world to claim the possession of any 
literary skill or pretend that he had any- 
thing but the most rudimentary acquaint- 
ance with the intricacies of grammar, 
style or punctuation. He was rightly 
content to leave such minor matters to less 
fortunate persons who, like myself, have 
been compelled by circumstances to study 
the laws of syntax and composition. As 
the editor of his memoirs it has been my 
pleasant duty to rewrite most of the ori- 
ginal manuscript which the distinguished 

i6 


INTRODUCTION 


author had dictated somewhat hurriedly 
to his typewriter. And so, although the 
matter is invariably Lord Bellinger’s, the 
manner is generally my own. 

With these brief words of introduction 
my task comes to an end, and I will leave 
Lord Bellinger to tell his own story 
and trace the development of his own 
character by a simple portrayal of the 
numerous events of interest that have 
combined to form the groundwork of his 
successful career as a soldier and (until 
recently) a statesman. H. G. 


17 




CHAPTER I 


PARENTAGE 

Of my lamented father, John Albert 
Bellinger, ist Baron Bellinger, who 
figured for so many years in the fore- 
front of English political and social life, 
it is not necessary for me to say very 
much. Lord Bellinger, as is well known, 
w^as the offspring of wealthy parents who 
belonged to that upper-middle class 
which forms the very backbone of the 
British Empire. His father. Sir Percy 
Bellinger, was a successful brewer, 
with a large and flourishing business at 
Maidstone and a country-seat in the im- 
mediate neighbourhood of that town. 
His mother, nee Miss Elizabeth Ber- 
ridge, was the daughter of an affluent 
Lancashire cotton-spinner. My grand- 
parents were, as may therefore be imag- 
ined, simple, unpretentious people, and 
neither my father nor myself has ever 
been ashamed of the fact. By a wise 


19 


LORD BELLINGER 


combination of finances, however, they 
contrived to emerge from the caterpillar 
state of provincial respectability to which 
they were born, into the chrysalis condi- 
tion of a county family, and finally took 
their places without question in the but- 
terfly world of Mayfair. 

For the first twenty years of their mar- 
ried life the Percy Bellingers lived in 
comparative obscurity at Bellinger Hall, 
Maidstone. Later on, when business im- 
proved to such an extent that my grand- 
father felt no qualms about accepting the 
honour of Knighthood which the Prime 
Minister repeatedly offered him, the 
family moved to London. They bought 
a small house on the sunny side of Queen’s 
Gate, and entertained their friends lav- 
ishly but unostentatiously, with the aid of 
a plethoric but wellmeaning butler who 
breathed heavily on their heads when 
handing the wine, and not more than two 
(or at the outside three) footmen to min- 
ister to their needs. 

Even when they moved to Grosvenor 
Square, my grandparents continued to 


20 


PARENTAGE 


maintain a rare and dignified simplicity, 
scarcely altering their mode of life in any 
but the smallest domestic particulars, 
such as buying a curled white wig for the 
coachman, engaging taller footmen with 
powdered hair and calves of greater 
girth, and having a larger crest embossed 
upon their carriages and harness. 

They did not pretend to be any better 
than they were — honest, rich gentlefolk, 
with a right to wear court-dress and the 
assured privilege of admittance to the 
Royal Enclosure at Ascot; and the virtues 
of self-effacement and modesty formed by 
no means the least precious part of that 
inheritance which they bequeathed to 
their only son. Indeed, when Sir Percy 
died of apoplexy, the day after a Lord 
Mayor’s Banquet, and his widow was 
fortunately persuaded to retire perma- 
nently to a cottage in the country, and left 
her son in sole possession of the house in 
Grosvenor Square and of Bellinger Hall, 
my father, John Albert Bellinger, was 
a simple, if extremely wealthy, common- 
er — a Justice of the Peace, certainly, and 


21 


LORD BELLINGER 


a Knight Harbinger of the Primrose 
League, but nothing more. 

My dear father had for some years 
maintained an unavailing siege upon the 
heart of the Hon. Ermyntrude Blomynge 
(which, as everybody knows, is pro- 
nounced ‘Bling’). On the demise of Sir 
Percy Bellinger, this charming lady 
at length realised the true worth of her 
importunate suitor, and accepted him, 
much against the wishes of her parents. 
Lord and Lady Bulkinghorne (pro- 
nounced Bolquhoun), proud oldfash- 
ioned aristocrats of a type that is fortu- 
nately becoming rare. 

John Bellinger and his bride were 
married at St. John’s, Knightsbridge, by 
the Bishop of Bray and seven minor dig- 
nitaries of the Church. The service was 
fully choral; the guests (numbering 
among others the Crown Princess of Her- 
zegovina and the Servian Ambassador) 
were fashionable and select; the presents 
numerous and costly. A special detach- 
ment of police had to be employed to con- 
trol the crowds of complete strangers who 


22 


PARENTAGE 


congested the approaches to the sacred 
edifice. There was, indeed, scarcely a 
dry eye in the gallery (filled with domes- 
tic servants in a condition bordering upon 
hysteria) when the choir sang ^Tight the 
good fight!” while the register was being 
signed in the vestry by the happy couple’s 
most affluent relatives and the Prime 
Minister of the day, who fortunately hap- 
pened to be a distant connection of the 
bride’s. 

One daughter and three sons were the 
ultimate result of this alliance; Victoria, 
who died comparatively young, William 
Albert Edward, Hugo Claud, and, lastly, 
Richard de la Poer Tracy, my humble 
self. 

From the moment of his marriage For- 
tune seemed to smile upon my father. 
With a strongminded and aristocratic 
wife, related (however distantly) to the 
Prime Minister, he might well consider 
himself safely started along the high road 
to success. He could indeed be certain 
of obtaining advancement in whatever 
direction he chose to turn his footsteps. 


23 


LORD BELLINGER 


and it merely remained for him to decide 
upon the particular career to which he 
should devote his wealth and talents. 

For some time, however, it looked as 
though the name of Bellinger was not 
likely to be enrolled in the immortal an- 
nals of fame. During the first fifteen 
years of his married life my father took 
no very active part in public affairs. He 
was by nature inclined to be somewhat in- 
dolent, and would have been content to 
end his days as a country squire, or as the 
husband of one of ‘‘London’s leading host- 
esses,” as my mother was generally re- 
ferred to in the Social columns of the 
Press. She, however, was an ambitious 
woman, as I have already explained, and 
had long ago decided that her husband 
should make an indelible mark upon the 
pages of his national history. It was to 
her, therefore, that he owed his final de- 
termination to shake off the natural leth- 
argy which had long been his stumbling- 
block, and stand for Parliament. As a 
Candidate for Parliamentary honours my 
father was eminently successful, being 


24 


PARENTAGE 


elected member for the Kentish division 
of Paddlehurst by a large Conservative 
majority. Later on, when in his new ca- 
pacity as legislator he proceeded to West- 
minster to take his place upon the green 
benches of the House of Commons, no 
one attended the debates with greater 
regularity than he. Nor did any leave 
the precincts of Parliament when the long 
day’s work was over, with a more sub- 
lime consciousness of duty nobly done, 
and what his classical education once 
tempted him to refer to as a mens sana in 
cor pore vili. 

He asked for no reward. But even in 
this world, where injustice is so rampant 
and so universal ; in this England of ours, 
where the fog veils the just and the unjust 
alike, true merit must always be sure of 
eventual if tardy recognition. It was so 
in the case of my father, and he was grati- 
fied but not altogether surprised to read, 
one fine morning, in the Queen’s Birth- 
day Honours List, that Her Majesty had 
been graciously pleased to confer upon 
him the dignity of a peerage of the 
United Kingdom. 


25 


LORD BELLINGER 


A month later, when he took his seat 
in the House of Lords, with all the cus- 
tomary ceremonial, as ist Baron Belling- 
er, of Bellinger in the County of Kent, he 
was supported by two old college friends. 
Lord Pembridge (better known perhaps 
as the husband of Miss Elsie Toller of the 
Gaiety Theatre) and Lord Clanworth, 
the hero of the great Clanworth Divorce 
Case in which his cross-examination by 
Sir Simeon Tozer provided the readers 
of the Sunday newspapers with such ex- 
cellent value for their money during a 
Lenten period peculiarly barren of inci- 
dent. 

My dear father was anything but a 
snob ; quite the reverse. But it took him 
some weeks of constant practice to con- 
trol the very natural emotion with which 
his bosom thrilled each time his butler 
called him “My Lord”; and the second 
coachman who addressed him incorrect- 
ly as “sir,” twice in one morning, was 
very rightly given a month’s wages 
and sent about his business without a 
character. 


26 


PARENTAGE 


Like his father before him, Lord Bel- 
linger was a man of simple tastes. Save 
for renaming the family residence in 
Grosvenor Square ^‘Bellinger House, 
Mayfair,’’ he did not deem it necessary to 
effect any drastic alterations in his mode 
of life. He attended the debates in the 
Lords as faithfully as he had those in the 
Commons, would be in his place punctu- 
ally at half past four every afternoon, and 
was one of the last to leave the Chamber, 
at a quarter to five, when the day’s sitting 
came to an end. Thus for some time he 
continued his political career, conscien- 
tiously if silently, and, though he scarcely 
ever opened his lips in debate, was never 
known to miss a division. Such zeal 
could not altogether escape the notice of 
the party leaders, and it soon became evi- 
dent that Lord Bellinger was a man de- 
servedly marked out for promotion. 

Opportunity makes the statesman, as 
has often been said, and my dear father’s 
elevation to the House of Lords as Baron 
Bellinger was shortly followed by the of- 
fer of a Cabinet appointment. This he 


27 


LORD BELLINGER 


accepted with but little hesitation, for 
though at first inclined to depreciate his 
own capacity or experience, he was soon 
persuaded to recognise that neither was 
in any way necessary to success. 

For many years, therefore, he sacrificed 
himself devotedly to the service of his 
country, and placed all his energies at the 
disposal of those who had the future of 
the British Isles at heart. Later on, when 
the Empire was in danger, when the cause 
of Right and Property was in need of 
support, when every landowner’s pheas- 
ants were threatened by the ruthless hand 
of Socialism, and every brewer saw his 
profits disappearing beneath a wave of 
national temperance which the Govern- 
ment of the day seemed powerless to stem, 
the appearance of such a man as Lord 
Bellinger in the political arena did much 
to restore public confidence. 

On the subject of my father’s later po- 
litical career there is little need to expa- 
tiate. May it not be studied at length in 
the immemorial chronicles of Hansard? 
Is it not writ large across the pages of 
English History? 


28 


PARENTAGE 


Lord Bellinger was not perhaps what 
people would call a clever man, in the 
narrow sense implied by that much mis- 
used expression. That is to say, he was 
not gifted with any peculiar qualities of 
intellect calculated to raise him above 
his fellows. As far as manners were con- 
cerned, however, it would have been im- 
possible to find his equal throughout the 
entire British dominions. 

Manners, as a great thinker once said, 
come before all morality; they are the 
perfect virtues. Without them a man 
may be a Senior Wrangler, blest with un- 
usual powers of cerebral agility, and yet 
fail to make his mark in the world. With 
their assistance, he may lack the faintest 
gleams of intelligence, and yet live to be- 
come a Prime Minister, a Company Pro- 
moter, or even a permanent official at the 
War Office. 

Tact, selfcontrol, what is technically 
known as ‘‘an eye to the main chance,” 
often lead a man to giddier heights than 
does the mere possession of an abnormal 
supply of brain matter. Many an Eng- 


29 


LORD BELLINGER 


lish statesman in the past, gifted though 
he may have been with unusual oratori- 
cal powers, with quickness of perception 
and a genius for Departmental control, 
has failed to retain his Ministerial posi- 
tion through lack of the very qualities 
above mentioned. Many a dull, selfcon- 
fident individual, with a plausible man- 
ner and a general air of suavity and sa- 
voir faire, has fought his way to the 
throne of a Colonial Governor, to a seat 
on the Judicial Bench, to a high military 
Staff appointment or a Parliamentary 
Under-secretaryship, entirely owing to his 
regard for what are known as the nice- 
ties of private life. 

My father was appointed Minister of 
Agriculture in Queen Victoria’s Govern- 
ment at a time when he did not possess the 
most rudimentary knowledge upon such 
subjects as the rotation of crops or the 
proper treatment of glanders. He always 
remained in blissful ignorance of the dif- 
ference between a mangle and a wurzel, 
and the habits of the silo were ever a mys- 
tery to him. Later on, when he became 


30 


PARENTAGE 


President of the Board of Education, his 
spelling was not his strongest point. 
Such words as “unparalleled,” “Tues- 
day,” “ipecacuanhar,” etc., would have 
presented insurmountable difficulties to 
his otherwise facile pen, had not their oc- 
currence in Blue-books been fortunately 
rare. 

Lord Bellinger, in fact, owed his par- 
liamentary successs almost entirely to his 
unfailing urbanity, to a strong sense of 
propriety, to the atmosphere of good 
breeding with which he had contrived to 
surround himself. 

At the Board of Agriculture there were 
many officials who could discuss at great 
length the effect of the wire-worm upon 
hops; there was only one — and that one 
Lord Bellinger — who could tell (without 
consulting a book of reference) the rela- 
tive precedence of a Viscount’s younger 
son and the prospective heir to a Barony. 

At the Education Department there 
were few of the junior clerks who had not 
solved to their own satisfaction the intri- 
cate problem of Denominational Relig- 


31 


LORD BELLINGER 


ious Teaching; there was none who at the 
daily luncheon interval could bring to 
the consumption of asparagus an air of 
such consummate grace as his chief. 
Their knowledge was limited, parochial, 
departmental; his was universal, cosmo- 
politan, de/>ortoental, if one may coin the 
word. Small wonder then that Lord Bel- 
linger was beloved and respected by the 
whole British public. He was a man who 
never shirked responsibilities ; nor did he 
permit his official duties to devolve upon 
the shoulders of anybody else — except, of 
course, his private secretary. It was al- 
ways his principle, however, to avoid in- 
terfering with the work of his subordi- 
nates. He allowed the permanent officials 
to run the department upon their own 
lines, merely keeping a tactful hand upon 
the machine, ready to deal with any 
emergency that might — but fortunately 
never did — arise. 

He would sit in his office in Whitehall 
for hours at a time, reading the weekly 
illustrated papers, waiting for his secre- 
taries to bring him the various documents 


32 


PARENTAGE 


to which it was necessary that his signa- 
ture should be appended before the busi- 
ness of Empire could proceed, and never 
grudged the valuable time spent upon so 
thankless a task. 

My illustrious father consequently be- 
came a very popular and prominent fig- 
ure upon the political stage of Great Brit- 
ain. And it was not until the English 
people had been startled into momentary 
surprise by the great Saltingborough 
Soap Scandal (as it was afterwards 
called), and learnt that Lord Bellinger 
was in some measure responsible for the 
very unfortunate state of affairs that ex- 
isted in the Contract Department, that a 
revulsion of public feeling took place 
against this favourite Minister, and he 
was forced to resign office, bringing 
down the whole Government in his fall. 

In that admirable monograph but late- 
ly contributed to the “Empire Builders” 
series by that prolific and brilliant writer, 
Mr. G. K. Blusterton, the public services 
of the first Lord Bellinger have been ably 
epitomised in a fascinating chapter from 


33 


LORD BELLINGER 


which it may be permitted to make the 
following extract:^ 

“Lord Bellinger was essentially a 
great man. And he was essentially 
a great man because he was essenti- 
ally a small one. There is an idea 
abroad to the effect that a meticulous 
grasp of details is the sign of a petty 
and a narrow mind. Never did a 
more hopeless fallacy prevail. It is 
the large mind that is alone capable 
of appreciating the full importance 
of facts that are in themselves triv- 
ial, while some minor matter which 
by reason of its very insignificance 
eludes notice, is more often than not 
the very nucleus and hub around 
’which the most vital issues revolve. 
For, after all, the trifling things are 
of much greater importance than are 
the vast, tragic, elemental affairs 
which loom so disproportionately 
large on the mental horizon. The 
choice of a wife has to be made but 
once or twice in a lifetime; the 
choice of a breakfast-dish is a matter 
of daily recurrence. Courage, self- 
control and purity are very noble 

•EMPIRE BUILDERS. No. XLIV. LORD BELLINGER. (Green 
wood, Spink, Hawtrey and Neuman. London and Hastings. 7/6 net.) 


34 


PARENTAGE 


and very necessary ; but there are 
many things as noble and even more 
necessary — bread, and beer, and a 
mackintosh cape. The sacred heat 
of the passion that flames in the heart 
of a lover is beyond human control; 
but the fire in one’s bedroom needs 
hourly tending. The tragedy of ten 
thousand Chinamen who are swal- 
lowed up in an earthquake evokes 
our deepest sympathy; but we can- 
not conscientiously pretend to com- 
pare our personal sorrow on such an 
occasion with the more poignant 
grief that we experience over the 
loss of a favourite umbrella. . . . 
It has been said of Lord Bellinger 
that he was not ambitious ; that, hav- 
ing been induced by the force of 
public opinion to resign his Cabinet 
appointment at a period of great na- 
tional stress, he modestly elected to 
retire into the comparative obscur- 
ity of private life, rather than bat- 
tle with the adverse tide of circum- 
stance. Who knows but that this 
very instinct of self-effacement was 
an expression of that soaring ambi- 
tion which ever remained, as I main- 
tain, one of the leading characteris- 


35 


LORD BELLINGER 


tics of his nature? What is ambi- 
tion? Is there no element of ambi- 
tion in the statesman’s desire to shine 
within the circle of his own family, 
to illumine the dark corners of his 
own domestic hearth, to dazzle his 
own butler with the epigrams that 
have long gained applause upon the 
political platform? Is the ambition 
of a pawnbroker to become a peer 
more dignified, more admirable, 
than that of a peer who yearns to be- 
come an honest pawnbroker? The 
ambition to renounce is no less 
praiseworthy than the ambition to 
succeed ; its rewards are no less hard- 
ly won. To triumph is undoubtedly 
a glorious thing, like the dawn, or a 
good square meal. But to fail, as 
thoroughly as Lord Bellinger failed, 
resolutely, with fearless, open eyes, 
may be as glorious a thing, and even 
more blessed. For failure lies at the 
root of all success, and in the very 
heart of success the worm of failure 
builds its nest. ... It has been 
said, again, that Lord Bellinger was 
a man of complex character. If he 
was tortuous, it was the very sim- 
plicity of his nature that made him 


36 


PARENTAGE 


so. For in this world we find com- 
plexity in the very simplest of cre- 
ated things, and the homely but mys- 
terious sausage stands for all time as 
the perfect type of our complicated 
human nature.” . . . 

After his political debacle Lord Bel- 
linger retired into the country, and de- 
voted the evening of his life to the science 
of apiculture. He was much interested 
in the breeding of honey-bees, and, being 
of a somewhat careful disposition, was ac- 
cused by a waggish friend of crossing his 
bees with glow-worms, in order to enable 
the industrious little creatures to work by 
night as well as day. I should like, how- 
ever, to take this opportunity of stating 
that there is not a word of truth in such 
an accusation. His book, “Bees; Their 
Treatment in Sickness and in Health,” 
would doubtless have become the recog- 
nised handbook on the subject, had not 
some busybody discovered that the great- 
er part of it was borrowed word for word 
(but without acknowledgment) from a 
volume published in 1845 by the French 
naturalist Genieu. This discovery caused 


37 


LORD BELLINGER 


my father so much annoyance that he 
angrily withdrew his book from circula- 
tion and wrote an extremely ingenious if 
not very convincing letter to The Times 
in defence of unconscious plagiarism. 

If Lord Bellinger was destined to dis- 
appointment in his career as an adminis- 
trative politician and as an author (or 
translator) , in his family life he was fated 
to be no less unfortunate. His two eldest 
sons were a source of profound anxiety 
to him. 

My eldest brother, William Bellin- 
ger, had always been a strange creature, 
very bad at games, and inclined to read 
serious books when he should have been 
healthily employed shooting rabbits. At 
the age of five- and- twenty he became af- 
flicted with acute religious mania, and 
insisted upon what he called “entering the 
Church.” In vain did my father point 
out to him that he had “entered the 
Church” many years ago, when his god- 
parents had surrounded the font at St. 
Peter’s and undertaken on his behalf 
(but without consulting him) a number 


38 


PARENTAGE 


of serious pledges by which he was after- 
wards to be considered permanently 
bound. The silvergilt mug and the com- 
bined knife-fork-and-spoon with which 
Sir Claud Ventriform and Lady Maud 
Holdenham, the two chief sponsors, had 
commemorated this sacred occasion, long 
survived in the plate-chest at Bellinger 
Hall as outward and visible signs of this 
solemn event. 

My father could not be expected to 
view without misgiving his eldest son’s 
decision to take Holy Orders. Lord Bel- 
linger was not in any way prejudiced 
against the clergy, for whom he always 
entertained the greatest admiration. They 
were in his opinion, a most worthy body 
of men, and how we should get along 
without them on Sunday, as he was never 
tired of saying, he really didn’t know. He 
invariably asked the Vicar of the parish 
to dine with him once a year, without his 
wife, and a certain number of the local 
clergy were always invited to Bellinger 
Hall on the occasion of the annual vil- 
lage schooltreat, when the four footmen 


39 


LORD BELLINGER 

already had as much work as they could 
manage. 

But the idea of a Bellinger, and es- 
pecially of the heir to the title, joining the 
priesthood was quite out of the question, 
and when William attempted to entangle 
my father in a theological discussion on 
the subject, the latter was very properly 
shocked. He had often been a good deal 
scandalised by his son’s outspokenness on 
the subject of a personal Providence, hav- 
ing been brought up to deem it in the 
worst possible taste to mention the Deity 
at all — except, of course, on Sundays — 
and William’s familiarity with such mat- 
ters offended him deeply. 

Lord Bellinger was an earnest church- 
man — that is to say he attended divine 
service regularly every Sunday, twice if 
in London, once in the country — but he 
rightly considered religion to be too sa- 
cred a thing for discussion on weekdays 
or by mere laymen. In fact, if he had 
had his way, the subject would never have 
been discussed at all by anybody, but 
would have been allowed to remain a sub- 


40 


PARENTAGE 


lime and noble mystery, to which one 
could turn for comfort in times of stress, 
when everything else had failed. 

In vain, however, was my brother 
William implored to be sensible and go 
into the Guards. In vain was it pointed 
out to him that the position of a country 
curate was an undignified one for the fu- 
ture Lord Bellinger to adopt, and that 
the salary was quite disproportionate to 
the work. William stubbornly declined 
to listen to arguments or entreaties. He 
had received a “call,” as he considered, 
and even my dear mother’s remark that 
he could not have been taking his tonic 
regularly or he would never have experi- 
enced anything so unhealthy, produced 
no change in his views. 

What was the result of William’s ob- 
stinacy? For ten years my misguided 
brother laboured in one of the very poor- 
est parishes of East Ham, living a hand- 
to-mouth existence — for though Lord 
Bellinger was only too anxious to help 
him financially, principle naturally for- 
bade his doing so — always on the verge 


41 


LORD BELLINGER 


of bankruptcy, spending all his private 
means on the local charitable institutions 
which, despite his efforts, were never out 
of debt. 

At length, when his health gave way, 
and he was ordered abroad, William 
elected to go as a missionary to Central 
China, where, it may be remarked, his 
services were not in any way required. 
He selected China as the field of his mis- 
sionary effort, the problem of that coun- 
try’s conversion having always appealed 
alike to English hearts and pockets. En- 
lightened Londoners shudder at the 
thought of Chinese heathendom; it cuts 
our merchant princes to the quick to con- 
template the odious Opium Traffic from 
which the British Empire reaps so vast 
a revenue. We are naturally a tender- 
hearted people, and cannot bear the 
thought of our neighbours jeopardising 
their prospects of future happiness by 
holding beliefs which we know little 
about and have neither the time nor the 
inclination to study. 

In China William married the daugh- 


.42 


PARENTAGE 


ter of a British vice-consul named Atkins, 
and devoted himself heart and soul to the 
task of proselytising the benighted heath- 
en. His efforts were not altogether un- 
successful. After eight and a half years’ 
hard missionary work, he contrived to in- 
duce three small native children to for- 
sake the gods which their ancestors had 
worshipped for many centuries with com- 
paratively harmless results, and perverted 
a few venal coolies from the religion in 
which they had been brought up by pious 
parents. 

Finally, during one of the earlier Box- 
er risings, William was captured and put 
to death by those of his potential parish- 
ioners who were as fanatical on the sub- 
ject of their faith as he was on his. He 
died a painful but glorious death by de- 
capitation, with his last breath reciting 
snatches from his favorite “Hymns for 
Those of Riper Years at Sea.” His loss 
was universally mourned. He had been 
lovely and pleasant in his life, as his epi- 
taph declared, but in his death he was un- 
doubtedly divided. This, as Mr. Bernard 


43 


LORD BELLINGER 


Shaw would have said, and as Lord Bel- 
linger could not help affirming, was a 
heavy price to pay for the privilege of 
buttoning one’s collar at the back instead 
of in front. 

William being a clergyman, it might 
well have been assumed that the continu- 
ance of the title was secured. His wife, 
however, insisted upon presenting him 
with a monotonous sequence of daughters, 
though it was evident that her conduct 
was eminently distasteful to him, and 
Lord Bellinger himself had spoken to her 
very seriously more than once upon the 
subject. His daughter-in-law’s failure to 
do her duty by the family was, indeed, one 
of the things my dear father could never 
forgive. After William’s death she was 
never admitted to the family circle, though 
an allowance of eighty pounds a year was 
generously made to her (by my mother, 
who was always inclined to be softheart- 
ed), on condition that she and her seven 
daughters resided permanently abroad. 

The case of Hugo Bellinger, my 
only remaining brother, was but a trifle 


44 


PARENTAGE 


less deplorable than that of poor William. 
Hugo figured for so many years and with 
such embarrassing frequency and promi- 
nence in the more interesting portion of 
those columns of the press which are de- 
voted to the decisions of the Admiralty 
and Divorce Courts, that even when he 
settled down into comparative respect- 
ability with his third (or fourth) wife at 
Monte Carlo, he cannot be said to have 
added very largely to the family reputa- 
tion. 

During the latter part of his life, Hugo 
eked out a precarious existence in the 
Sunny South, shooting one kind of pigeon 
and plucking another. He was not, in- 
deed, without talent. Persons who play- 
ed cards with him declared that he had 
altogether mistaken his profession; he 
should have been a conjuror. They could 
not withhold their admiration of his 
methods, but seldom offered (or even 
consented) to play with him again. 

Having given this brief outline of the 
lives and characters of my two elder 
brothers I may perhaps say, without un- 


45 


LORD BELLINGER 


duly boasting, that I was the only male 
member of my father’s family who never 
caused him a moment’s uneasiness. It is 
not therefore to be wondered at that he 
should always have bestowed upon me a 
measure of that affection and confidence 
which he denied to his elder sons, but of 
which I trust I have not proved myself 
altogether unworthy. On this point, how- 
ever, I am perfectly content to allow pos- 
terity to judge, and it is with this object 
in view that I propose to supply my de- 
scendants with the autobiographical me- 
moirs of a not altogether uneventful life. 


46 


CHAPTER II. 


EARLY YEARS. 

Of my infancy and childhood it is un- 
necessary to write at length. My life in 
the nursery closely resembled that of any 
other normal child of good family. My 
parents, kindly oldfashioned people, as I 
have explained, brought me up in the good 
oldfashioned manner. I was taught that 
children should be “seen but not heard,” 
that I must efface myself whenever my 
elders were present, must never display 
the natural curiosity of youth by asking 
intelligent questions, nor develop my criti- 
cal faculties by making personal remarks. 
I was bidden to sit quiet and silent at 
meals, to ask for mutton when my whole 
soul longed for chicken, for tapioca pud- 
ding (with lumps in it) when I yearned 
for apple-tart. I was repeatedly assured 
that Virtue is its own reward, and was 
mercifully left to discover by experience 
what sort of a reward that is. 


47 


LORD BELLINGER 


My mother was a very orthodox and de- 
vout woman, and read herself to sleep 
regularly every night with a chapter from 
* the Old Testament. My father, as I have 
said, made a point of attending church 
every Sunday, both as an example to the 
weaker brethren — among whom he in- 
cluded the servants — and as a protest 
against that lack of Sabbath observance 
which is the growing tendency of an ir- 
religious age. It is always a delightful 
sight, as some philanthropist once point- 
ed out, to watch the British citizen in his 
front pew, singing 

^Were the whole realm of Nature mine. 
That were an offering far too small!” 

while he fumbles in his pocket for the 
threepenny-bit with which he intends to 
encourage the propagation of the Gospel 
in foreign parts. It is always pleasant to 
hear him declare in a loud and unctuous 
voice that 

‘Whatever, Lord, we lend to thee 
Repaid a thousandfold shall be,” 

while making a mental calculation by 


48 


EARLY YEARS 


which he becomes in anticipation the pos- 
sessor of some £12.10.0 in heavenly cur- 
rency. 

Lord Bellinger was most particular in 
the exercise of his religious duties, and 
frequently provided his fellows with this 
admirable spectacle. In the home circle, 
too, my father’s devotion was no less 
marked. He said ^^grace” himself in ex- 
cellent Latin (unless a clergyman hap- 
pened to be present) both before and after 
every meal. For some ceremonial reason 
or other, however, the grace that conclud- 
ed the evening dinner always preceded 
dessert — it being apparently considered 
that there was little necessity for express- 
ing thankfulness for oranges, grapes and 
bananas. Personally speaking, the after- 
dinner glass of port, the cigarette, coffee 
and liqueur, have always seemed to me to 
be the pleasantest incidents of the meal, 
and the most evocative of gratitude. But 
I may be wrong. 

Family Prayers were an important part 
of the daily routine of the Bellinger 
household. Punctually at nine o’clock 


49 


LORD BELLINGER 


each morning the servants trooped into 
the dining-room, led by the junior scul- 
lery-maid — the van being brought up by 
the butler — and took their places upon 
two rows of chairs facing one another, 
The sexes were sternly divided, the men 
sitting on one side of the room, the wo- 
men on the other, while Lady Bellinger 
and we children occupied a commanding 
position by the fireplace, and the master 
of the house officiated at one end of the 
dining-room table. The service was 
brief, but appropriate, consisting of the 
lesson for the day, a psalm (intoned in 
alternate verses by my father and his 
congregation) and a few prayers. 

As a child the procedure of the house- 
hold during family prayers puzzled al- 
most as much as it interested me. I would 
gaze in admiration at the stout old but- 
ler when that worthy, in a stentorian 
voice which could be heard far above the 
shrill treble of the second-housemaid, 
proclaimed himself to be a sparrow on 
the housetop and a pelican in the wilder- 
ness. I found it very hard at first to be- 


50 


EARLY YEARS 


lieve Mrs. Potts, the robust housekeeper, 
when that good lady remarked that she 
could ‘‘tell all her bones,’’ and was much 
alarmed on another occasion at hearing 
the family coachman state without any 
apparent emotion that all his were out of 
joint. Finally, when at a preconcerted 
signal, the whole household fell upon its 
knees, exposing heavenwards a row of 
backs of every conceivable shape, I 
thought it odd that any request to Provi- 
dence should be rendered more effective 
by being addressed to the seats of the 
dining-room chairs. 

During the latter part of his life my 
dear father sometimes sacrificed his 
strict Sabbatarian views, and, in accord- 
ance with the wishes of his family, es- 
corted us to afternoon concerts at the 
Queen’s Hall. Here, after a copious lun- 
cheon, he would evince his interest in 
classical music by snoring contrapuntally 
throughout the entire performance of 
Tchaikowski’s “1812,” awaking with a 
loud exclamation of terror when the real- 
istic bombardment by the orchestra’s in- 


51 


LORD BELLINGER 


struments of percussion precluded any 
further idea of slumber. 

I was thus brought up in an atmo- 
sphere of sincere Christianity, and my re- 
ligious education was never in any dan- 
ger of being neglected. My mother had 
given me, one Christmas, an illuminated 
text to hang over the nursery mantlepiece. 
This stated in florid letters of blue and 
gold that Providence was “an Uninvited 
Guest at Every Meal, an Unseen Listener 
to Every Conversation.” Until I grew 
accustomed to this terrible idea, and real- 
ised that one should never believe half of 
what one reads in texts, this caused me 
much mental discomfort, adding a fresh 
terror to meals and making conversation 
almost impossible. 

The unavoidable presence of the Deity 
was, indeed, so firmly impressed upon my 
childish mind that I would sometimes lie 
awake half the night trembling in terror. 
Providence was always held up to me as a 
sort of beneficent bogy, invested with 
every human attribute (except, of course, 
a sense of humour) , suffering from an al- 


52 


EARLY YEARS 


most morbid curiosity as to the doings of 
at least one little boy, and ever — as I put 
it, without any intentional disrespect — 
“about my bath and about my bed, and 
spying out all my ways.’’ 

My unnatural flippancy, as my parents 
deemed it, caused the family much need- 
less anxiety, as I now remember with sor- 
row. When I read the account of the 
fiery serpents with which the Israelites 
were punished for worshipping a golden 
calf, I could not conceal my surprise that 
Providence should have taken the offence 
so seriously. “Anybody else would have 
laughed,” I remarked to my much scan- 
dalised mother. 

My childhood was in many ways a 
bright one, but, like other children, I 
had my moments of unhappiness. My 
father was not a badtempered man, 
though at times, especially during those 
years in which he held high office, in- 
clined to be a trifle irritable. On several 
occasions he displayed towards his family 
in general and myself in particular some 
symptoms of that nerve-tension which 


53 


LORD BELLINGER 


was the result of many anxious hours 
spent in a Department of State. One es- 
pecial instance stamped itself indelibly 
upon my callow memory. At the age of 
seven I was sitting on the nursery floor, 
I remember, persistently beating a drum 
which some tactless relative had given me 
on my birthday. My father’s study was 
situated exactly below the nursery, and 
he was at that very moment endeavour- 
ing to compose a thoughtful article for the 
Nineteenth Century on “The Better 
Treatment of the Halfwitted,” a subject 
upon which he was supposed to have ex- 
pert knowledge. The constant repercus- 
sion of my tireless instrument eventually 
drove my father into a condition of mind 
bordering upon that of the unfortunates 
on whose behalf he was advancing so 
noble a plea for justice. He threw aside 
his unfinished essay, rushed upstairs, en- 
tered the nursery with great violence, and 
proceeded to puncture my drum in sev- 
eral places with the toe of his boot. At 
the same time he made use of expressions 
which I was too young to appreciate, but 


54 


EARLY YEARS 


which nevertheless caused my mother to 
exclaim ^^Ohl John! Not before the 
child 1’^ My father then left the room 
without further comment, and sent for 
the house-carpenter to release my mother 
and myself by replacing the nursery door- 
handle which he had accidentally carried 
away in his hand. 

Again, when I was only ten years old, 
and my father took away the Shetland 
pony he had presented to me at Christmas, 
because he rightly considered that the 
animal might be better employed in mow- 
ing the tennis lawn, I incurred his just 
wrath by questioning the parental author- 
ity to confiscate what I was so misguided 
as to term my property. Such family 
quarrels were, however, rare, and the har- 
mony of the home circle was seldom dis- 
turbed by wrangles or differences of 
opinion. 

I was not, I fancy, a stupid child. At 
an early age I had mastered the intrica- 
cies of an instructional work euphemisti- 
cally entitled “Reading Without Tears.” 
Over this volume my mother and I used 


55 


LORD BELLINGER 

to weep together in lugubrious unison, 
while doubtless gathering much valuable 
information on such subjects as the pres- 
ence of the Cat on the Mat in a Hat, or 
of a Hen in a Den with a Pen. My sub- 
sequent studies in the schoolroom ground- 
ed me upon a firm basis of elementary 
knowledge, having French and Latin for 
its foundation. Mademoiselle Allon- 
court, my governess, was an accomplished 
lady of Swiss extraction. Though closely 
related to the Vicomte de Finesherbes, she 
had been compelled by circumstances to 
adopt teaching as a means of livelihood, 
and continued for many years a member 
of the Bellinger household. Here she 
was treated more as one of the family than 
as an inferior — except, of course, by the 
servants — and afterwards (through the 
kindness of my mother) became a per- 
manent inmate of the Home for Inebriate 
Gentlewomen at Hythe. Under her kind- 
ly tuition I made rapid strides in French 
grammar and conversation. With her as- 
sistance I accompanied Ollendorf in his 
patient and indefatigable research after 
56 


EARLY YEARS 


pens, ink and paper, and shared that au- 
thor’s passionate anxiety to discover the 
exact whereabouts of the Gardener’s 
Mother, the Baker’s Aunt, and the equal- 
ly elusive relatives of numerous other 
tradesmen. 

At the age of nine I was sent to school 
at Dr. Busby’s Academy for Backward 
Boys at Broadmoor, where a supply of 
plain coarse food was supplemented by 
the bracing ozone of a London suburb. 
The inmates of this seminary enjoyed a 
beautiful view of Broadmoor Convict 
Prison and the local Criminal Lunatic 
Asylum from their dormitory windows, 
and could hear the bell tolling in Brook- 
wood cemetery while they were at play. 

Amid such cheerful surroundings I 
grew up strong and healthy. 

Four years later I went to Eton, and 
took my place with the “heirs of all the 
ages” — and the heirs to most of the peer- 
ages — in that famous institution which 
has long been rightly regarded as the 
most perfect training-ground for those 
who will presently be called upon to 


57 


LORD BELLINGER 


undertake the responsibilities of a life of 
leisure. 

The young Englishman of my day was 
not sent to Eton to learn how to keep his 
accounts ; he could not expect to be taught 
to carry on a business correspondence, nor 
indeed to write an intelligible letter to his 
family. He was not told anything of the 
time-honoured traditions of his Father- 
land, nor the history of his own national 
literature. But there are more important 
things than a knowledge of English or 
European history, there are lessons more 
vital to a young man’s welfare than those 
which merely ensure that he shall spell his 
mother-tongue correctly, and enjoin him 
not to too frequently split his infinitives. 
At a public school I learnt to be a man of 
the world ; I was taught to be a gentleman ; 
I laid the foundations of successful life as a 
country squire, and above all a sportsman. 

Eton also provided me with a classical 
education which was of the greatest pos- 
sible service in later life. 

My tutor, the worthy Mr. Murton, bet- 
ter known subsequently as that exquisite 
58 


EARLY YEARS 


stylist whose numerous volumes of essays 
— ‘^Deep Waters,” “Monthly Musings,” 
“The Long Road,” etc. — suggest that he 
has turned on some literary tap and is un- 
able to turn it off again, taught me the 
rudiments of Latin and Greek, and I have 
always looked back with gratitude to 
these early lessons which I was afterwards 
destined to find of such inestimable value. 
When I joined the army I would often 
entertain my brother officers by reciting 
to them, after “mess,” that long list of 
Latin prepositions which govern the sub- 
junctive — a, ab, absque, coram, dam, etc. 
— and there was scarcely a man in the 
Household Brigade who could conjugate 
the Greek verb rDTrrw so correctly as I. 

At Eton I was trained to recite many 
of the Odes of Horace from memory in 
a plaintive nasal monotone ; my mind was 
richly stored with Bowdlerised selections 
from the least amorous portions of Ovid’s 
verse. My brain became a treasure-house 
of classic lore. I learnt all that there was 
to be known about the Roman she-wolf 
who (as my mother once remarked, with 


59 


LORD BELLINGER 


an apology for referring to anything so 
indelicate) was famous for nursing Ro- 
meo and Juliet, and whose timely bark- 
ing saved the Roman Capitol. I had at 
my fingers’ ends the story of how Marius 
was foolish enough to leap fully-armed 
into a crevasse, how Cincinnatus put his 
hand to the plough and never looked 
back, and so on. In these and kindred 
subjects I was well versed. I even ac- 
quired some facility in the art of turning 
charming English lyrics into indifferent 
Greek iambics, and could give a literal 
translation of the Iliad which doubtless 
made Homer and Pope revolve in their 
respective graves. Arithmetic was my 
particular forte, and at an early age I had 
acquired a sufficient knowledge of mathe- 
matics to enable me to add up a bridge- 
score correctly. I also knew most of the 
first book of Euclid by heart, and was 
able to explain to admiring friends that 
the whole of anything was greater than 
half of it, and that things that were equal 
to one another were equal to themselves. 
This kind of knowledge always comes in 


6o 


EARLY YEARS 


useful, and I had little cause to regret the 
fact that it was not until many years after 
leaving Eton that I discovered the beau- 
ties of English literature which had been 
so carefully concealed from my gaze dur- 
ing the impressionable period of my non- 
age. 

At a public school I also imbibed that 
spirit of patriotism which makes the Eng- 
lish what they are — if, indeed, they need 
any excuse of this sort. The pure French 
accent of Zurich, which I had absorbed 
from Mademoiselle Alloncourt in the 
nursery, gave place to a sturdier British 
breadth of tone. I soon realised that 
among Englishmen an accurate knowl- 
edge of any foreign language is consid- 
ered a distinctly effeminate accomplish- 
ment — did not Bismarck declare that all 
Englishmen who speak French correctly 
are, with one exception, scoundrels? — and 
as I had no desire that other little boys 
should kick my shins and call me a muff, 
hastened to acquire the habit of talking 
French with an insular emphasis which 
left no doubt as to my nationality. 

6i 


LORD BELLINGER 


The other and most important lessons 
which I learnt at a public school were 
taught me out of school hours. In my 
lengthy intervals of leisure I was in- 
structed to ‘^play the game,” to pity for- 
eigners, to despise the Liberal Govern- 
ment, and to be polite to all those who 
were older than myself, or bigger. 

There was, however, one lesson which 
Eton could not teach me. This was the 
necessity of cultivating the society of 
those whom Providence had especially 
blessed in the matter of birth or wealth. 
Eton boys are, of course, bad judges of 
character. They take a friend as they 
find him, without troubling to ask them- 
selves whether he is fitted by birth or for- 
tune to be included in the sacred circle of 
friendship. I remember, for instance, 
making great friends with a boy named 
Gregson minor, the youngest of the thir- 
teen sons of Canon Gregson, an impecu- 
nious provincial divine. This impetuous 
act was fraught with disagreeable conse- 
quences, which I was no doubt too young 
to foresee. The Reverend Canon caused 


62 


EARLY YEARS 


much annoyance to my father by presum- 
ing upon his son’s friendship for myself 
to request the loan of Bellinger House, 
Mayfair, for a missionary meeting. He 
even went so far as to solicit a subscription . 
towards funds for lighting and heating his 
parish church, and for providing poor 
children with country holidays — for sup- 
plying, in fact, hot air for his congrega- 
tion and fresh air for their families. This 
considerably irritated Lord Bellinger, 
who had long been forced to cut off all 
contributions to charity, not for reasons 
of economy but as a protest which he felt 
it to be his duty as a man of principle to 
make against a recent increase in the 
Income Tax. 

Again, I remember resolutely with- 
holding my friendship from a youth 
called Cowan, whom indeed I used to 
kick regularly every morning, on the plea 
that the boy was a liar and invariably 
omitted to wash himself. Many years 
afterwards I happened to meet my for- 
mer schoolfellow in the train, and was 
surprised to find in my companion no 
63 


LORD BELLINGER 


less a personage than the son of Sir Sim- 
eon Cowan, senior partner of the great 
firm of Cowan, Eickstein and Co. of Bir- 
mingham. As the head of this company 
of wellknown small-arm manufacturers, 
who supply rifles and ammunition to 
nearly all the savage tribes with whom 
England is from time to time engaged in 
guerilla warfare. Sir Simeon is a man of 
some importance, and worth about a mil- 
lion and a quarter. His son and heir was 
not therefore a person whom it was safe 
to ignore, much less to kick. All this, 
however, is by the way. 

It must not be imagined that my early 
life was altogether untouched by sadness. 
I have determined not to dwell more than 
is absolutely necessary in these pages up- 
on the tragic side of things, and will de- 
vote but little space to the first real sor- 
row that came to mar the peace of mv 
home life. 

When I was about sixteen years old my 
little sister Victoria was suddenly stricken 
down by a severe illness from which she 
never really recovered. Being an only 
64 


EARLY YEARS 


daughter she was cherished by her par- 
ents with a very deep devotion, and this 
unexpected seizure came as a great shock 
to us all. Though I was eight years her 
senior, I had always loved Victoria very 
dearly, and was her favourite brother; 
my anxiety was consequently as deep as 
that of any of the family. This was my 
first experience of sorrow, and made a 
profound impression on my youthful 
mind. 

Victoria’s illness gradually gave way 
to treatment, as the doctors said, but was 
succeeded by many years of convales- 
cence which made it necessary for her to 
live entirely abroad. How well I remem- 
ber the day she left England with her 
governess. Miss Purcell! What a ter- 
rible farewell scene we had at the station, 
when my mother broke down and even 
my father blew his nose with unusual 
frequency and resonance. Victoria had 
possessed a little black spaniel, “Prince” 
by name, and after she had gone away 
he used to wander about the deserted nur- 
sery seeking his mistress in a most dis- 
65 


LORD BELLINGER 


consolate fashion. He eventually at- 
tached himself to me, and I was glad to 
have the opportunity of proving my love 
for Victoria by taking every care of her 
little pet. 

On the day of her departure, when we 
all returned to Bellinger from the station, 
I felt that I could no longer restrain 
those tears which in my boyish heart I 
deemed unmanly. I hastened upstairs to 
my bedroom and locked myself in. ''Par- 
tir c^est mourir un pen” as I was then for 
the first time to discover. Overcome by 
emotion, I flung myself down upon the 
bed and buried my face in my hands. 

“Prince’^ had followed me upstairs. 
On reaching the bedroom he hurried 
across as usual to the water-jug and slaked 
his thirst. He then looked around to see 
what I was doing, was (I suppose) as- 
tonished to find me lying motionless on 
the bed, and decided that steps must at 
once be taken to rouse me from this in- 
comprehensible position. He probably 
remembered the curious fondness of hu- 
man beings for throwing sticks and stones 


66 


EARLY YEARS 

about and then expecting their four- 
legged friends to retrieve them. By some 
strange oversight, however, there was 
neither stick nor stone to be found in my 
bedroom. At length a brilliant inspira- 
tion occurred to him. Selecting a small 
piece of coal from the scuttle in the fen- 
der, he carried it to my bedside, laid it 
carefully on the floor, and began jumping 
about all round it like a Jack-in-the-Box, 
dumbly inviting me to try and take it 
from him. I was not in a mood for play, 
and remained motionless. After this fail- 
ure “Prince” seemed to realise that more 
strenuous measures must be adopted to 
attract my attention. The bed was for 
him a forbidden place, as he knew well. 
This was no time, however, for slavish 
obedience to convention, and, taking his 
courage in both paws, he leapt lightly up 
onto the counterpane by my side, and 
awaited results. It was doubtless a pleas- 
ant surprise not to be ordered off per- 
emptorily, and, much encouraged, he 
snuggled up close to me, as though desir- 
ous of seeing my face and learning my 

^7 


LORD BELLINGER 


trouble. When he had with difficulty 
wormed his way within a few inches of 
my pillow, he suddenly felt two large 
rain-drops descend upon his little damp 
nose. On licking these off he found them 
to be warm and salt, and realised that 
something must indeed be wrong. With 
feverish paws he scratched away the 
hands that hid my face, and began to kiss 
my nose and chin with impartial devo- 
tion. For some time I took no notice, and 
then all of a sudden the thought of this 
warm little friend trying to comfort me 
stirred something in my heart, and I 
seized him in my arms and squeezed him 
so tightly to my breast that he would 
probably have squeaked had he not un- 
derstood that this was not the moment for 
squeaking. The weight of my sorrow 
seemed to grow lighter from that instant, 
and I was able to appear at luncheon with 
the rest of the family. 

Poor little “Prince!” I am sure he un- 
derstood all that was passing in my mind 
that day, and though at the time his ef- 
forts at consolation only made my tears 


68 


EARLY YEARS 


flow faster, his silent sympathy was of 
very real comfort to me. He died a year 
or two later — of over-eating, I fear — and 
was succeeded, first by ^Tacchiarotto,” a 
pug who succumbed to distemper, and 
then by “Bramble,’’ a little Aberdeen ter- 
rier whose indoor manners left so much 
to be desired that I eventually gave him 
to my mother. 

Years have passed since then, but to 
this day, whenever I am asked to sub- 
scribe to some society for the promotion 
of scientific research by means of experi- 
ments upon live animals, the thought of 
“Prince” seeking to share my childish 
sorrow holds me back. 

Three years later, at the age of nine- 
teen, I bade farewell to Eton, and to some 
extent began to realise the serious respon- 
sibilities of life. My father, like so many 
other patriotic Englishmen, had always 
destined his youngest son for the army, 
and I was fully determined to carve out 
a great career for myself with the sword. 
I failed, however, to pass the necessary 
examination on three successive occa- 


69 


LORD BELLINGER 

sions, but finally, after spending some 
years at a crammer’s establishment in 
Norfolk, qualified (by service in the Mi- 
litia) for a commission in Her Majesty’s 
army. Before I reached my twenty-third 
birthday, therefore, I was taking my 
place on the barracksquare and in Lon- 
don society as a fullfledged ensign of the 
Guards, and it is from this moment that 
I date the commencement of my real life. 


70 


CHAPTER III. 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS. 

Like my father Lord Bellinger, I was 
naturally disinclined to anything ap- 
proaching effort, but never at any period 
of my life could I have been accused of 
being a loafer. On attaining manhood 
the temptation to lead a life of idleness 
was often strong, but I suppressed it with 
a firm hand. For nearly twelve years I 
served in a regiment of Footguards, per- 
forming my military duties cheerfully, 
and I hope thoroughly, during the whole 
period of my service. 

Military life in those days was not so 
irksome and laborious as it has since be- 
come ; the army had not yet degenerated 
into a profession, but was still looked up- 
on as a pleasant temporary refuge for 
young men of good family, like myself, 
upon whose hands the time hung some- 
what heavily. Even so, the strict disci- 
pline attaching to barrack life was occa- 


71 


LORD BELLINGER 


sionally tiresome to a man of independent 
nature, but I can truthfully boast that 
during the whole term of my soldiering I 
scarcely ever uttered a complaint. If I 
grumbled at all it was with good reason 
and in accordance with the best traditions 
of the service. While actually ^^doing 
duty” (as it was called) I would often 
rise as early as 8 a.m., and my day’s work 
was seldom over before breakfast — some- 
times not until ten or eleven o’clock in 
the morning. Nor did I ever get more 
than eight (or at the outside nine) months’ 
leave in the year. In spite of this, how- 
ever, I must confess that no period of my 
existence was pleasanter than that which 
I spent upon the barracksquare, and I al- 
ways look back with feelings of delight 
and gratitude to those happy years of sol- 
diering. 

At this time I lived at home, at Bel- 
linger House, with my family, going to 
and from my work every day in one of 
my father’s broughams. On fine summer 
mornings, when the labours of the day 
were accomplished, I should sometimes 


72 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


have preferred to return from barracks to 
Grosvenor Square on foot. It was, how- 
ever, obviously impossible for an English 
ofBcer to be seen walking in uniform in a 
West-end street after breakfast without 
evoking the unwelcome curiosity if not 
the actual ridicule of the passer-by, and I 
was forced to relinquish the idea. 

During my term of military service I 
made many excellent friends, and always 
found the company of my brother-ofBcers 
congenial and agreeable. Perhaps the 
comrade whose society I most valued at 
this time was Herbert Hazelton, gener- 
ally known as “Ginger,” who afterwards 
distinguished himself in the South Afri- 
can War, and finally, on the death of 
his uncle. Lord Garlick, succeeded to the 
title. 

When we first became acquainted Ha- 
zelton was a young man of my own age, 
about three or four and twenty, clean- 
shaven and pleasant-looking, with rather 
long fair hair which he swept back from 
his brow, and a good figure. He was in 
many ways a most versatile and accom- 


73 


LORD BELLINGER 


plished person. No one could make an 
apple-pie bed or balance a sponge upon a 
door better than he ; his imitations of cele- 
brated actors were most amusing and 
could often be recognised at once ; and the 
juggling tricks which he performed at 
mealtimes with the aid of a fork and two 
oranges were as graceful as they were en- 
tertaining. He was, in fact, the beau 
ideal of a soldier, and, taking him all 
round, a man whose society well repaid 
cultivation. Perhaps his forte was the 
singing of comic songs. These he ren- 
dered in so exquisitely humorous a man- 
ner that people who were playing bridge 
in the next room would often stop in the 
middle of an exciting spade hand to de- 
clare that they couldn’t remember a single 
card that had been played while that 
noise was going on. Unlike so many ama- 
teurs who accompany themselves upon 
the piano, Hazelton never gave one the 
impression of being so busy playing that 
he couldn’t sing, or so busy singing that 
he couldn’t play. His repertoire was va- 
ried and extensive, ranging from what he 


74 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


called ‘‘Boudoir Ballads” such as “Step 
lightly, there’s crape upon the door I” or 
“Don’t throw the lighted lamp at Moth- 
er!” to more obviously comic songs re- 
lating chiefly to the dubious humours of 
connubial infelicity, intoxication and the 
disadvantage of possessing a red nose or a 
mother-in-law. Of these my favourite 
perhaps were “Her sweetheart had been 
in the sun,” “Father’s in the pig-stye; 
you can tell him by his hat,” and “He was 
really more a monkey than a friend.” My 
dear mother was always very fond of the 
latter, and would beg Hazelton to sing it 
whenever he came to call. 

I used often to bring my friend home 
to dine quietly with my family, and he 
soon became one of the intimates of Bel- 
linger House. How well I remember the 
simple domestic scenes in which he so 
frequently took part, when we all assem- 
bled in the drawing-room after dinner! 
My father would be reading — a blue- 
book very probably — in his armchair by 
the fire; my two brothers — William had 
not yet become religious, nor Hugo irre- 


75 


LORD BELLINGER 


ligious — and myself occupied the sofa 
near the piano, ready to join in any 
chorus at a moment’s notice; while my 
sainted mother played “Demon” patience 
in another corner of the room. The re- 
frain of one of Hazelton’s songs still 
sticks in my memory: 

“He ain’t dead yet, but he hasn’t got long 
to live. 

There’s a lump as big as a brick be- 
hind his ear. 

If I grow to be a hundred I never can 
forgive 

The man who put his whiskers in my 
beer!” 

I have only to close my eyes even now 
to hear Hazelton singing this to us, and to 
recall the faint flute-like tones in which 
my dear mother declared that she never 
could forgive the man who put his whis- 
kers in her beer. 

We were a very musical family, and 
often spent the hours between tea and din- 
ner singing those old-world glees and 
part-songs which are very rarely heard to- 
day, save perhaps in suburban homes. 

76 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


The fashion for such songs has long ago 
died out, but in my young days much 
harmless amusement was to be derived 
from so simple a source. My eldest 
brother William had a fine tenor voice 
(which he afterwards ruined in the pul- 
pit) ; Hugo provided a fairly creditable 
baritone (which he subsequently drown- 
ed) ; I sang bass; and when Hazelton 
happened to be of the party he would 
obligingly take the soprano parts in a 
high falsetto which made up in volume 
what it lacked in tone. The result of our 
combined efforts caused us a great deal of 
pleasure, and, though it may have been 
painful to the listener, my mother seldom 
if ever complained. 

^‘O, who will o’er the downs so free!” 
and “Oh, Hush thee, my baby!” were our 
favourites, though occasionally we would 
soar higher and attempt some old-world 
part-song of Elizabethan date. It is 
strange how fragments of ancient ballads 
cling to the memory long after the power 
or the wish to sing them has ceased to 
exist. I can still remember bits of an old 


77 


LORD BELLINGER 


glee we used to sing together with re- 
markable success in those early days of 
which I speak. It went somehow as fol- 
lows, unless my memory is at fault: 

Hazelton (falsetto) : “Have you sip- 
ped the bag of the bee?” 

Myself {basso prof undo) : “Have you 
felt the wool of the beaver?” 

William {not to be outdone) : “Or 
swan’s down ever?” 

Tutti: “Oh, so soft, oh, so fair, oh so 
sweet is she!” 

Hazelton: Oh, so soft! 

Hugo: Oh, so fair! 

Myself: Oh, so sweet! 

T utti : Is she — hee-hee ! 

etc., etc. 

(After singing this song, I remember 
Hazelton justly remarking that he had 
no intention of sampling the bag of the 
bee or patting the beaver on the back; the 
odds being distinctly in favour of his be- 
ing badly stung or bitten if he were to 
attempt either. Well, well, those were 
mad and merry days, gone alas! never to 
return!) 


78 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


Of the other friends of my early man- 
hood perhaps the most noticeable was Al- 
gernon Wynne. I was really more a 
friend of his than he was of mine, and if 
I saw a great deal of him in those days 
it was chiefly because he attached himself 
to me with a malignant fidelity which it 
was impossible to elude. 

Wynne was a clerk in the Foreign Of- 
fice, and both in character and manner the 
very antithesis of Ginger Hazelton. Dark 
and cadaverous in appearance, and wear- 
ing an habitually melancholy expression, 
he looked as though he were concealing a 
secret and lifelong sorrow on his bosom. 
He posed as being the “strong silent man” 
of whom one reads in novels (but fortu- 
nately rarely meets), and by the simple 
means of never saying a word and looking 
unspeakably wise, had acquired a reputa- 
tion for mental acumen which never 
ceased to surprise his friends. He him- 
self had grown so accustomed to it that he 
almost ended by believing himself to 
possess more than the average amount of 
intelligence, an illusion which was fos- 


79 


LORD BELLINGER 


tered by the flattery of foolish women, 
and added considerably to his already in- 
ordinate conceit. 

Wynne had no sense of humour, and 
for this reason perhaps his society was 
much cultivated by the fair and more 
matter-of-fact sex. He would lean 
against the mantel-piece in a romantic at- 
titude, for hours at a time, gazing into the 
eyes of some fortunate woman with a sub- 
lime air of selfconscious nobility which 
went straight to her heart. 

A friend had once told him that he re- 
minded her of Lord Byron — her entire 
knowledge of that poet having been 
gathered from a cursory and surreptitious 
perusal of Don Juan — and he spent his 
whole time trying to live up to the part 
assigned to him. He allowed his hair to 
grow long, affected an expression in 
which pathos, egoism, sensuality and mys- 
tery were equally blended, and always 
wore a velvet collar to his evening coat. 
If one can imagine a priggish and de- 
pressed Lothario with a Spartan fox 
gnawing ceaselessly at his vitals, some 


8o 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


idea of Wynne’s personality may be con- 
ceived. 

His extraordinary affection for myself 
tempted him to cling to my society with 
a limpet-like constancy that was at times 
overwhelming. But I think he always 
felt rather out of place at Bellinger 
House. In his own home he was accus- 
tomed to being surrounded by people who 
were, or at any rate fancied themselves to 
be, more intellectual than the majority 
of mankind. Most of his men friends be- 
longed to a select clique of young Univer- 
sity undergraduates who posed as being 
excessively clever. Many of them affect- 
ed the fashion then in vogue which or- 
dained that carelessness of one’s dress and 
appearance should be considered a sign 
of intellectuality. They seemed to fancy 
that a person’s grey brain matter varied 
in inverse proportion to the amount of 
soap he used. They therefore allowed 
their hair to grow over their collars, 
never “dressed for dinner” if they could 
avoid doing so, and were scornfully intol- 
erant of the incomprehensible cleanliness 


LORD BELLINGER 


and stupidity of their fellowmen. These 
youthful geniuses read Schopenhauer and 
quoted him to their girl friends, collected 
unfinished drawings by unknown artists, 
played socalled ‘^paper games” in the eve- 
ning, and would scarcely condescend to 
associate with any one who might by a 
stretch of the imagination be termed an 
intellectual inferior. In such a circle 
Wynne shone brightly enough. At ‘bet- 
ter games” he particularly excelled, 
knowing the names of more poets begin- 
ing with a B than any other player, and 
otherwise suitably distinguishing himself. 

It was always very amusing to me to 
watch Wynne and Hazelton together. 
Each cordially disliked the other. In one 
another’s company their mutual charac- 
teristics became unusually marked, 
Wynne growing more self-consciously 
gloomy and Hazelton more frivolous than 
ever. The latter always made a point of 
greeting Wynne with a smart blow on the 
back which he knew well to be irritating. 

“Hullo, Algy!” he would say, in a loud 
voice. “Come to cheer us up, eh? How’s 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 

the Little Lump of Fun? Pretty bob- 
bish?’’ 

The Little Lump of Fun would regard 
the speaker with a look of silent disdain. 

“Buck up, old cock!” continued Hazel- 
ton. “Merry and bright! Don’t keep it 
all to yourself, you ray of summer sun- 
shine!” 

The Ray of Summer Sunshine suffered 
his friend’s witticisms with the same 
dumb and sorrowful patience with which 
he endured his violent caresses. He 
seemed ever on the verge of a scathing 
reply, but the brilliant repartee which 
may have been hatching in his brain nev- 
er reached fruition. Wynne always re- 
minded me of a parrot that had not learnt 
to talk; the latent wisdom of his unutter- 
ed thought was so eloquently suggested by 
the profound air of reflection that his face 
habitually wore. 

It was to Wynne, however, that I owed 
my first introduction to English literature 
of a really serious kind. As a young man 
I was naturally fond of literature, and be- 
fore the age of thirty had read most of 


83 


LORD BELLINGER 


the ^‘Badminton Library” and was inti- 
mately acquainted with many of our Eng- 
lish classics, from ^^The Sentimental Jour- 
ney” to “Mr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour.” I 
was always a great admirer of Shakes- 
peare, but have never had time to study 
his works since I left school. I could 
have passed an examination in any of 
Whyte-Melville’s novels, and had read 
“Handy Andy” right through no less than 
four times. But it was not until Wynne 
drew my attention to them that I fully ap- 
preciated the gems enshrined in the works 
of many great writers of whom I had nev- 
er before heard. At his instigation I be- 
gan to keep a Commonplace Book, in 
which I copied out with great pains frag- 
ments that appealed to me f rom the works 
of Marcus Aurelius, Victor Hugo and Sir 
John Lubbock (now Lord Avebury). 
Even now, busy man though I am, I often 
look through that old book of mine and 
study those “jewels five words long” 
which I transferred so carefully to its 
pages : “It is not what we do, but how we 
do it, that counts in the eternal verities of 


84 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


Life.” "Tout ce qui est sera; tout ce qui 
sera a etef^ “Never brood; you are a 
man, remember, not a hen,” — how such 
epigrams stimulated and heartened me in 
those far-off days ! 

It was Wynne too, who inspired me 
with a love of poetry and taught me to 
discover the beauties of Adam Lindsay 
Gordon and (later on) of our two great- 
est living poets, Kipling and Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox. I could never face 
Tennyson or Keats or those other obscure 
bards, though I liked bits of Wordsworth 
about Lucy and Mary and so forth. I 
also delighted in Macaulay’s “Lays of 
Ancient Rome” and was particularly fond 
of that poem of Burns’ about a man being 
only a guinea stamp and all that. 

Wynne pretended to be so cultured that 
he liked reading Meredith and Henry 
James, but of course this was only a pose, 
and he usually fell back upon R. L. Stev- 
enson and Wilkie Collins. With a view 
to educating himself he even began to 
work his way through “Everybody’s En- 
cyclopedia of Literature,” but mercifully 
85 


LORD BELLINGER 


stuck in the middle of Vol. XXIX 
(UNGF— YPSL). 

He was a genuine admirer of Sir Wal- 
ter Scott’s novels, and tried in vain to 
make me share his affection for that writ- 
er. I liked Scott well enough as a poet, 
but could not stand him as a novelist. In- 
deed, one of the few real quarrels Wynne 
and I ever had was the result of my in- 
ability to keep awake while he read Sir 
Walter’s works aloud for my especial 
benefit. It was a very hot day, I remem- 
ber, and I was sitting in an easy chair 
with my feet on the mantel piece. As 
my friend’s monotonous voice droned on 
I felt my attention gradually slipping 
away and my eyes closing. To this day 
I have no notion as to what he was read- 
ing, but I know what it sounded like: 

‘‘‘A fig for the idle lozel!” said the 
reeve. ‘‘Shall I be told to my beard 
by such an howlet that I cannot crack a 
fool’s costard before May-day be done? 
Algates, borrel churl that thou art, I 
areed thee, withouten let, to recant thy 
selcouth leasings. Certes these cherisaun- 
86 


FAMILY LIFE AND FRIENDS 


ces are not devoid of advisement in antick 
glee-games. Pardie !” 

^^Holy-dam,” replied his companion 
ruefully, ‘^Thou hast said sooth for the 
nonce. He must have been the devil to 
yshent the juggler so reproachfully.’’ 

^^That same borrel knight,” quoth 
Hugh, “benemp him how ye may, was a 
sorry priscant knave.” 

^‘A sorry troll,” cried Hob, ‘^the foul 
fiend afray him! He is a carle, a prin- 
cox! With his gay train as crank as pea- 
cocks, never to hansling a single cross 
with me!” 

^Taravaunt,” exclaimed the other, “the 
lurdane arraught him full couthly.” 

As the reeve uttered these words the 
Lady Egbertha entered. She wore a 
mantle of sendal and a surcoat of min- 
ever over a watchet-coloured tunic and a 
white linen rochet. On her head was a 
wimple of samite surmounted by a volu- 
pure of fine purfled satin and a gambason 
of coarse stammel. A gipsire depended 
from a baldrick of light blue tarentine at 
her side, and her orange-coloured kirtle 
and white courtpie were circled with a 
girdle of silver baudekin. . . .” 


87 


LORD BELLINGER 


By the time Wynne reached the baude- 
kin I was fast asleep. He looked up, 
about four chapters further on, to find me 
snoring, and it was with the greatest dif- 
ficulty that I prevailed upon him to for- 
give this unintentional insult to his fav- 
ourite author. 

Nowadays, alas! I scarcely ever have 
time to read anything but the newspapers, 
but I still belong to a circulating library, 
which sends me periodical parcels of 
books at which I glance, if I have time, 
after dinner, and I generally contrive to 
peruse the weekly literary reviews of the 
Daily Mail, and thus keep in touch with 
the great world of letters. 


88 


CHAPTER IV. 


A DIGRESSION. 

The next few years passed by happily 
but uneventfully. I was now fully grown 
up — though perhaps my mental powers 
had scarcely reached maturity — and was 
gradually gaining that ripe experience of 
things which can only be obtained by close 
contact with the world of men and wom- 
en. On looking back at this peaceful 
period of my existence I can find little 
that may be considered worthy of being 
placed on record. Indeed, the only inci- 
dent that stands out at all clearly in my 
memory is of so trivial a nature that it 
seems almost an impertinence to commit 
it to paper. As, however, at the time, it 
made upon my mind a very strong im- 
pression, which the passage of years has 
not been able to efface, I may conclude 
that it was not without its value in the for- 
mation of my character. It may there- 
fore be of some interest to those of my 


89 


LORD BELLINGER 


readers who have so patiently watched 
the unfolding and development of my 
faculties, and for that reason I have de- 
cided to include some brief account of it 
in these memoirs. 

Like most young men of under thirty, 
I had never given very much thought to 
those social questions which in after life 
were destined to interest me so deeply. 
The eternal problem of Unemployment, 
the perpetual existence of grinding pov- 
erty within the very gates of the richest 
city in the world, did not touch me close- 
ly enough to divert my attention from 
those harmless but no doubt selfish pur- 
suits in which I was then engaged. But 
I fully believe that it was due to the tri- 
fling events which I propose to narrate 
that my eyes were first opened to the in- 
equalities of life, causing me to look 
down with sympathy and, I hope, with 
understanding upon those of my fellows 
whose lines were cast in less pleasant 
places than my own. 

I have told the story of the downfall 
and dismissal of my father’s trusted ser- 


90 


A DIGRESSION 


vant, Alfred Carter, so often, that my 
relatives and friends are earnestly en- 
joined to skip this chapter altogether. I 
need not, however, offer an apology to 
the stranger for a tale which is not en- 
tirely without point or moral. I may add 
that the hero of my story — if a man of 
that class and with so low a standard of 
morality can be called a hero — is no lon- 
ger alive; he died in the workhouse in- 
firmary many years ago. But I am glad 
to say that I was able to be of service to 
him at the end, to cheer his last hours, and 
to fulfil his dying request by promising 
to send his son to a training-ship. (The 
lad subsequently emerged from that in- 
stitution to enter the Marines and has 
already, so I understand, attained the 
rank of corporal, and hopes before he 
reaches the age of sixty to earn a military 
pension of nearly three shillings a week.) 

I should explain perhaps that as a boy 
I was always a favourite with the servants 
at Bellinger House. I suppose it was the 
recollection of some early kindness on my 
part that induced Alfred Carter to send 


91 


LORD BELLINGER 


for me when he was dying, to beg me to 
look after his little son. It was at this 
final interview, which took place in the 
infirmary, that I heard the incidents 
which I have here pieced together into 
the shape of a story. I only wish I were 
able to describe them in the simple 
phraseology of the dying man, but that I 
will not attempt. A literary friend of 
mine to whom I related this account of 
Alfred Carter’s Christmas Dinner (as I 
always call it) used it as the basis of a 
short magazine sketch. From this I have 
taken the liberty of quoting, with his kind 
permission, in the ensuing pages. 

Three years before the date of which I 
am writing there was no more prominent 
feature of Grosvenor Square than the ro- 
tund and comfortable figure of Alfred 
Carter, hallporter at Bellinger House. It 
was impossible to pass my father’s town 
residence, which (as everybody knows) is 
situated on the North side of the square, 
without catching sight of the familiar 
form of the sleek hallporter as he sat in 
his high oldfashioned chair at the broad 


92 


A DIGRESSION 


bow-window that overlooked the front 
door, ready at a moment’s notice to an- 
swer the bell or admit visitors. 

For thirteen years, summer and winter, 
week in week out, had Carter occupied 
that leather-lined highbacked seat, which 
was a cross between a Sedan chair and a 
sentry-box, and, but for one unpardonable 
act of folly, he might in all probability 
have continued to fill the same eminently 
respectable position in Lord Bellinger’s 
service for a still longer period. 

Carter’s duties were of a sedentary 
character, and far from arduous. For 
some ten or eleven hours a day, at the 
most, he was required to sit in the front 
hall, watching the traffic as it passed the 
window, or occasionally reading some 
sporting paper which he would hastily 
conceal at the approach of a visitor. Ex- 
cept on evenings when my father was 
attending a party or ball, which only oc- 
curred two or three times a week — when 
it was, of course, the hallporter’s privilege 
to wait up until Lord Bellinger returned 
— Carter generally managed to get his 


93 


LORD BELLINGER 


day’s work done by eight o’clock, and was 
free for the rest of the evening. It is 
therefore impossible to frame a reason- 
able excuse for the inexplicable moral 
lapse of which he was guilty at the very 
height of the London ^season’ — a time 
when, if his duties were perhaps more 
onerous than usual, his responsibilities 
were all the greater and his need for 
vigilance all the more pressing; nor, in- 
deed, did Carter himself ever make any 
serious attempt to palliate the heinousness 
of his offence. 

It was the nighft of Lady Bluffshire’s 
memorable ball at Leominster House, and 
my father, who had thoroughly enjoyed 
himself, was later than usual in bidding 
farewell to his hostess and summoning the 
carriage which had been waiting in the 
rain for the last two hours. It must have 
been nearly three o’clock in the morning 
before his brougham drew up at the 
front door of Bellinger House, Mayfair, 
and the diminutive groom, who had long 
been slumbering fitfully against the 
coachman’s shoulder, sprang from the box 


94 


A DIGRESSION 


and pealed the “visitors” bell. Strange 
to say, the summons was unanswered, and 
although the boy made several more at- 
tempts to attract the porter’s attention, and 
the bell could be distinctly heard ring- 
ing in the front hall within, the door re- 
mained obstinately closed. By this time 
my father had grown impatient, and re- 
membering that the latchkey which he sel- 
dom had occasion to use still hung upon 
his watch-chain, he stepped out of his 
carriage, unlocked the door himself, and 
in another moment was standing in his 
own front hall. Here a terrible spectacle 
met his outraged eye. Carter, the irre- 
proachable Carter, the pattern family ser- 
vant, the peerless hallporter, whose vigi- 
lance and sobriety had long been a matter 
of common knowledge in domestic cir- 
cles, was lying curled up in a singularly 
ungraceful attitude in his chair, fast 
asleep ! Not only was the man asleep ; he 
was also snoring stertorously, and a faint 
aroma of alcohol which pervaded the 
front-hall lent a final touch of depravity 
to this unedifying picture of a faithless 
servant’s perfidy. 


95 


LORD BELLINGER 


No good object can be gained by dwell- 
ing upon this painful scene. It is enough 
— though hardly necessary — to add that 
Carter lost his situation and was forced to 
leave Lord Bellinger’s service at an early 
hour the next morning, without a “char- 
acter” or the usual month’s wages. As my 
father said to Lord Orpington, a frequent 
guest at Grosvenor Square, who remarked 
upon the absence of Carter’s familiar fig- 
ure from its accustomed place at the 
front door, “The man drank; I had to get 
rid of him.” 

Fond though I had always been of Car- 
ter, it was, of course, difficult for me to 
cherish any feelings of pity for a menial 
who had brought misfortune upon his 
head by his own criminal deviation from 
the path of moral rectitude. But, for his 
wife and child, who were thereby reduced 
to a condition bordering upon destitution, 
it was impossible to repress a certain mea- 
sure of sympathy. Mrs. Carter had been 
lady’s-maid to Lady Emily Wotherspoon, 
a situation which she unwisely renounced 
in order to marry Carter. She was a 


96 


A DIGRESSION 


quiet, shy little woman of a colourless 
kind, foolishly fond of her husband, and 
sharing with him a pathetic devotion for 
their little son Bobby, a boy of five, for 
whom she was shortly expecting to pro- 
vide a playmate. Carter’s sudden dis- 
missal proved a very severe shock to his 
wife, and as winter approached and the 
chances of his finding another situation 
grew more and more remote, the poor 
woman, whose condition was in any case 
a delicate one, became more colourless 
and fragile than ever, and was a source of 
ceaseless anxiety to her husband. The 
doctor whom he consulted ordered the in- 
valid a liberal diet of beef-tea and port 
wine, but, as neither of these luxuries was 
within the reach of Carter’s means, and 
both he and his wife were unable to over- 
come that foolish aversion to the work- 
house which is still prevalent even among 
the respectable poor, no one was much 
surprised when Mrs. Carter shortly after- 
wards left her husband a widower and 
her son motherless, taking with her a 
little baby girl the period of whose 


97 


LORD BELLINGER 


earthly existence could be expressed in 
minutes. 

For some months, I believe, Carter con- 
tinued to haunt the various domestic ser- 
vants’ registry offices of the metropolis, 
but without success. There was, very 
rightly, little hope of employment for a 
servant, no longer young, who could pro- 
duce no ‘character’ save one with “Drink” 
writ large across it. From the “Butler’s 
Agency,” near Curzon Street, he obtained 
a brief situation as waiter at a public ex- 
hibition; at Mrs. Dunt’s wellknown es- 
tablishment in Baker Street he was less 
successful, though here he met an old 
friend — Lord Orpington’s valet, in fact — 
who insisted upon his acceptance of a few 
shillings with which to buy clothes for 
little Bobby. Carter was, however, a re- 
served man, and when misfortune seized 
him in her ruthless grip, he made a point 
of keeping out of the way of any old 
friends who could possibly have helped 
him — though I believe he once wrote my 
father a letter which was never answered. 
He might have saved himself the trouble, 
98 


A DIGRESSION 


for by the beginning of December they 
would certainly never have recognised in 
the brokendown, emaciated, seedy-look- 
ing individual who slouched along the 
shady side of the street, the unctuous, be- 
liveried hallporter who once figured so 
prominently in Lord Bellinger’s magni- 
ficient household. 

Bobby, too, was looking thinner than 
usual, although I have been told that his 
father denied himself the very necessa- 
ries of life in order that the little chap 
should not suffer. It was bad enough, 
thought Carter, to have killed his wife; 
it would be unbearable that his one irre- 
deemable crime should have the result of 
hurting this innocent child as well. So he 
walked the streets, day after day, in search 
of employment; wearing himself to a 
shadow, and occasionally picking up an 
odd job or two which helped him to pay 
for the one squalid room, off the Euston 
Road, which he and Bobby shared. 

Work was very scarce that Christmas, 
and Carter suffered more cruelly in the 
general lack of employment than did 

QO 


LORD BELLINGER 


many of his fellows, since he had never 
been accustomed to hard manual labour, 
and the little pride that hunger had not 
driven out of his soul revolted against the 
idea of seeking food at Salvation Army 
Shelters or similar institutions of a chari- 
table nature. By Christmas Eve Carter’s 
total assets, after paying the exiguous rent 
of his room, amounted to tenpence. 
Eightpence of this was all that remained 
of half-a-sovereign he had earned a fort- 
night before by temporarily filling the 
place of a German waiter at a cheap res- 
taurant in the City. The remaining two- 
pence had been given him by a benevolent 
old lady whose horse-hair American 
trunk he had carried from Portland Place 
to Victoria Station. Tenpence is not a 
large sum, and Carter had no difficulty in 
making up his mind as to the most profit- 
able way in which it should be spent. 
Two-thirds at least would buy a real 
Christmas dinner for Bobby, who had 
been talking of nothing else for the past 
ten days ; the rest of the money Carter in- 
tended to devote — as he himself confessed 


100 


A DIGRESSION 


— to the purchase of gin, a beverage 
which he knew by bitter experience to be a 
cheap if not altogether satisfying substi- 
tute for the Christmas meal which, as far 
as he was concerned, it must represent. 

Gin, as we have all learnt from ser- 
mons, medical treatises, lectures, good 
books and other sources of inspired in- 
formation, is the very hallmark of the 
Devil. The road to Hell is paved with 
empty bottles of “London Dry.” It can- 
not be mentioned in polite society — ex- 
cept perhaps in conjunction with ginger- 
beer — and is the cause of half the poverty 
and suffering of which we read so much 
in the public press. Carter would un- 
doubtedly have done better in every way 
if he had made up his mind to spend 
those two precious pennies upon, say, a 
cup of cocoa or two penny buns. But 
he had already given way, as we have 
seen, to the temptation which alcohol 
presents to the weakminded, and it was 
perhaps characteristic that his last coin 
should be wasted upon the accursed habit 
that held him in its thrall. 


lOI 


LORD BELLINGER 


It was Christmas Eve, then, and Bob- 
by’s patience, like his father’s purse, was 
well nigh exhausted; so much so that Car- 
ter determined to anticipate the date of 
universal festivity by a day, in order to 
make quite certain that nothing should 
prevent the boy from enjoying his long 
promised Christmas dinner. Hand in 
hand the two marched off at midday to a 
small restaurant (which shall be name- 
less) situated at the back of Shaftesbury 
Avenue, where for eightpence it is pos- 
sible to get a ^^cut from the joint and two 
vegetables,” where Bobby was presently 
to be observed tucking in to a meal the 
like of which he had not tasted for many 
a long day. His father assured him that 
he himself had no appetite, a pious lie 
which the boy swallowed as readily as he 
did his Yorkshire pudding. But when 
the banquet was over, and Carter, who 
for the last halfhour had been suffering 
the tortures of Tantalus, suggested that 
they should return home — the thought of 
waiting any longer for that warming 
draught of gin was beginning to be un- 


102 


A DIGRESSION 


bearable — Bobby begged so hard to be 
taken for a short walk along Regent 
Street, to look at the shop windows which 
at this season of the year present such a 
delightful spectacle, that his father found 
it impossible to refuse so harmless a re- 
quest. Alfred Carter was loth to post- 
pone his potations, but he had never yet 
taken Bobby into a public-house, and this 
was certainly not the day to begin such a 
practice; nor was it an occasion for 
thwarting the boy’s wishes. So he stren- 
uously pushed aside the deplorable 
thoughts of gin which were uppermost in 
his mind, lifted his little son on to his 
shoulder, and set off westwards with a 
resolute step. 

Regent Street looked particularly at- 
tractive on this gloomy December after- 
noon. The slight fog served as an excel- 
lent background for the high lights which 
flamed out from every shopwindow, cast- 
ing their brilliant reflection upon the 
damp pavements and the still damper 
streets. The jewellers’ shops scintillated 
with the brilliance of a thousand gems; 


103 


LORD BELLINGER 


the window-displays of imitation dia- 
monds glittered with a resplendent if 
meretricious glamour. But the window 
that seemed to attract more public atten- 
tion than any other was that of a large 
toyshop, filled to the brim with all that 
the heart of the most exacting and fastid- 
ious child could desire, through the door 
of which emporium a constant stream of 
customers ebbed and flowed. 

Bobby had not appeared to be very 
deeply interested in Parisian diamonds, 
mauve dressing-cases, silver inkstands. 
Liberty enamels. Even the photographs 
of the Stereoscopic Company left him 
comparatively cold. But at the sight of 
this amazing collection of toys his eyes 
grew as round and as large as plums, and 
he imperiously commanded his father to 
stop. 

“Look, daddy, look!” exclaimed the 
boy, with a joyous cry, as he sprang down 
from his father’s shoulder and forced his 
way unceremoniously through the crowd 
that blocked the pavement outside this 
blazing window. Alfred Carter looked. 


104 


A DIGRESSION 


and saw a sight which for the moment al- 
most made him forget his gin. The shop- 
window was aflame with colour. • Dolls 
of every shape and size hung suspended 
from the ceiling, gazing straight in front 
of them with a far-away look in their 
glassy eyes. Woolly bears, monkeys, ele- 
phants, golliwogs, white rabbits, poodles 
— every conceivable variety of animal — 
were ranged on shelves round the wall. 
Pop-guns, trumpets, soldiers^ helmets, 
toy-locomotives, boxes containing every 
kind of indoor and outdoor game, lay in 
bountiful profusion on the floor. While 
in the very centre of all this galaxy stood 
a tall Christmas tree, lighted by electri- 
city, its branches loaded with silver 
globes, crackers, stockings filled with 
chocolate, air-balloons, small dolls, and 
a hundred other toys likely to appeal to 
the wishes of younger children. No won- 
der Bobby gasped with delight as he 
feasted his eyes upon so brilliant a scene! 

Suddenly a shadow crossed the child’s 
happy face; the corners of his mouth be- 
gan to turn down in an ominous manner. 

105 


LORD BELLINGER 


Had it occurred to him, perhaps, that all 
this display of wonderful things was not 
really intended for him at all, that it was 
meant for some little boy whose father 
wore a thick astrachan overcoat, not for 
one whose father had no overcoat at all ; 
for some little boy whose mother drove 
about in a fine big carriage, not for one 
whose mother drove (as he recalled the 
only occasion upon which he could re- 
member her driving at all) in a hearse? 

Carter, who had been an interested 
spectator at the toyshop window, felt his 
sleeve gripped by a fierce little hand. 

“Wot’s up. Sonny?” he asked. 

“Let’s go ’ome, daddy,” said the boy, 
trying to draw his father away. 

Carter looked down at the diminutive 
figure by his side, and was astonished to 
notice a large tear rolling solemnly down 
the little fellow’s nose. 

“Wot’s the matter, Bobby? Anything 
wrong?” he enquired again. “Come, 
come,” he added. “Men like you and me 
don’t cry, men don’t; ’specially not on 
Christmas Eve. Think wot mother 
would ’a’ said!” 


A DIGRESSION 


“Muvver promised me — ” Bobby hid 
his face in his father’s knee, and whatever 
his mother had promised was lost in the 
loud sob which he was unable to suppress. 

“Wot did mother promise you, Bobby? 
A Christmas present?” 

Bobby nodded through his tears. He 
was, as has already been remarked, a 
spoilt child, and his fond mother had al- 
ways made a point of celebrating anniver- 
saries — birthdays, Christmas and the like 
— by some small gift in commemoration 
of such festal occasions. Christmas was 
therefore associated in Bobby’s mind with 
the receiving of presents. On one fa- 
mous occasion, two years ago, he had 
been the recipient of a wonderful scarlet 
tie with magenta spots, given him by no 
less a person than Lady Emily Wother- 
spoon, who had not altogether forgotten 
her old maid. The value of this gift — 
not perhaps a very appropriate one for a 
boy of four — was in no way lessened in 
his eyes by the fact, of which he was, of 
course, ignorant, that Lady Emily had 
originally knitted the tie for her husband. 


107 


LORD BELLINGER 


Colonel Wotherspoon, who had rejected 
it with scorn, declaring that it was quite 
impossible for a man of his hectic com- 
plexion to don an article which combined 
such vivid colouring with such execrable 
taste. 

Alfred Carter read his son’s thoughts 
and was not long in arriving at a decision. 
At all hazards the little boy’s Christmas 
must not be spoilt. 

“Just you wait a minute, sonny,” he 
exclaimed, as he disengaged the boy’s 
hand from his sleeve. Then, with a 
forced smile, he pushed Bobby back into 
his original position at the window, and, 
turning away, walked into the shop alone. 

Once inside. Carter found himself sur- 
rounded by a motley crowd of well- 
dressed persons, all bent upon a similar 
errand. There were devoted mothers 
helping rosy-cheeked little boys to make 
up their minds as to the respective ad- 
vantages of a toytrain or a box of soldiers ; 
kindly uncles self-consciously choosing 
nude flaxenhaired dolls for nieces in the 
country; proud fathers with their arms 
io8 


A DIGRESSION 


full of elephants, golliwogs and drums. 
The shop-assistants were harassed, wor- 
ried and overworked, and paid no atten- 
tion to the seedy-looking man who stood 
shyly in one corner of the shop. At 
length, however, a smart young shop- 
walker noticed him. 

“Are you being attended to?” he en- 
quired urbanely. 

“No, sir,” stammered Carter. 

“What can I show you, sir? Some- 
thing for a little boy? Yes, sir, certainly. 
This way, if you please.” He led the 
blushing" ex-hallporter round the shop, 
taking him, no doubt, for an eccentric 
millionaire. 

“These trains are very popular just 
now, sir. Only one pound eleven. May I 
wind it up for you, sir? No? Thank 
you, sir. Here is a box of soldiers, sir. 
Seventeen shillings. The uniforms are 
all correct, sir. Too expensive? What 
do you say to this little rabbit? You press 
the spring and it hops along. Very life- 
like, sir. Only six and fourpence.” 

“The fact is,” said poor Carter, “the 


LORD BELLINGER 


fact is, sir, I didn’t want to spend more 
than tuppence.” 

‘‘Two-pence!” exclaimed the scandal- 
ised shopwalker. “I’m afraid you’ve 
come to the wrong shop.” 

Carter turned to leave, almost glad of 
this loophole of escape from a spot in 
which he felt so thoroughly out of place. 
But the shopwalker’s scorn suddenly 
turned to pity, and he stopped him. Per- 
haps the young man’s heart was softened 
by the evident signs of privation upon 
Carter’s face; perhaps his thoughts turn- 
ed to his own poor lodging in Pimlico 
and to the little consumptive girl who 
was so anxiously awaiting his return with 
the promised gift from Santa Claus. 

“Miss Bickers!” he called, to a young 
lady seated at a desk at the back of the 
shop, “Where are those damaged articles 
returned to us by Lady Galthorpe after 
her ladyship’s schoolfeast?” 

Miss Bickers pointed to a box in the 
corner. 

The shopwalker crossed over and pick- 
ed out a few of the broken toys. There 


no 


A DIGRESSION 


was a drum which had been badly punc- 
tured, a golliwog that had lost its head, 
and a small Union Jack over which some 
careless person had evidently upset a cup 
of coffee. 

“You can have this if you care to,” he 
said, not ungraciously, pointing to the last 
named article. 

Carter felt in his pocket for the two 
cherished pennies. It is not true to say 
that he had forgotten the “tot” of gin 
which they represented, but as his eye 
turned to the window and he saw there a 
little white mushroom which he recog- 
nised as Bobby’s nose pressed persistently 
against the pane, the importance of alco- 
holic stimulant faded into insignificance 
beside that of his son’s happiness, and he 
gratefully handed over the coins and re- 
ceived in return the battered flag which 
the shopwalker had by this time folded 
neatly in a large piece of paper. 

Bobby’s excitement during the remain- 
der of the homeward walk was intense. 
He made many unsuccessful attempts to 
discover the exact nature of the contents 


III 


LORD BELLINGER 


of Carter’s parcel; but his father kept the 
secret well. 

“I know!” exclaimed Bobby, for about 
the twentieth time, as they reached the 
miserable little lodging and were climb- 
ing the rickety stair. “It’s a effelunt with 
real tusks!” 

“Wrong again,” said his father, wish- 
ing that the boy’s imagination did not al- 
ways tend to such expensive subjects as 
elephants with real tusks. 

At last the cheerless little attic was 
reached, the door carefully closed, and 
the precious parcel delivered into Bob- 
by’s feverish hands. With flaming cheeks 
he undid the string, unrolled the paper, 
and drew out the flag. 

“Oh, daddy!” he exclaimed, with such 
a shout of pleasure that there could be 
no mistaking his genuine delight at the 
poor little gift. 

Carter picked him up, flag and all, and 
drew him close, till he could feel the 
small warm lips touching the thin cheek 
that was so badly in need of a razor. 
There were tears in the man’s eyes. 


A DIGRESSION 


“Oh, daddy!” said the boy again, as 
with a sudden outburst of gratitude he 
flung his arms round his father’s neck and 
kissed him rapturously. 

That, after all, was Alfred Carter’s 
Christmas dinner. 

I have ventured to describe this epi- 
sode at some considerable length because, 
as I have already stated, it made a very 
deep impression upon my mind. Indeed, 
I was so moved by this glimpse into the 
lives of the lower classes that at one mo- 
ment I had serious thoughts of trying to 
do good works in the East End of Lon- 
don, either for the Church Army or the 
Salvationists. I found, however, on look- 
ing into the matter, that this would en- 
tail the sacrifice of more time than I 
could possibly spare — I was playing polo 
four days a week at Ranelagh and had 
just bought six new ponies — and was con- 
sequently forced to relinquish the idea. 
Instead, I sent a small cheque to a Fund 
for the Relief of the Starving Poor of 
Lambeth, and as the result of this 
thoughtless act of charity was bothered 


LORD BELLINGER 


for many years to renew my subscrip- 
tion. 

The memory of Alfred Carter and his 
domestic troubles was soon to pale into 
insignificance beside that deeper tragedy 
which came to ruffle the calm of my hith- 
erto placid existence. I refer, of course, 
to the destruction by fire of my ancestral 
home, Bellinger Hall. 


114 


CHAPTER V. 


BELLINGER HALL. 

If Bellinger Hall* was probably the 
ugliest countryhouse in Kent, if not in the 
whole of England, it was certainly one 
of the most comfortable. 

Originally built by my grandfather. Sir 
Percy Bellinger, in the early part of 
the late Queen Victoria’s reign, it stood 
on the site of a little old redbrick Eliza- 
bethan farm-house which he had bought 
for a ridiculously small sum from a strug- 
gling farmer who did not appreciate its 
value. 

My grandfather had a great deal of 
taste, and, as has been said of another 
more notable Englishman, it was all bad. 
With the assistance of one of the foremost 
craftsmen of his time and of a reputable 
firm of local builders, he replaced the 
original Elizabethan structure by a vast 
palace which was as unique a specimen of 
Victorian architecture as the -most un- 


LORD BELLINGER 


compromising of modern Philistines 
could desire. Even my deep affection for 
the old place could not altogether blind 
me to its ugliness. 

The house was built of yellow brick, 
faced with plaster, in a style that was 
perhaps intended to be Gothic but only 
succeeded in being grotesque. It com- 
bined the most deplorable qualities of the 
Crystal Palace and the Imperial Insti- 
tute, South Kensington. There was a 
touch of the austere but grimy dignity of 
Buckingham Palace about the front of 
the building, while the roof resembled 
nothing so much as that of a second-rate 
Turkish mosque. Ginger Hazelton used 
always to say that the outside of Bellinger 
Hall suggested a pompous Asylum for 
Eastern Potentates, relieved by a suspi- 
cion of Hydropathic Cathedral and a 
slight dash of Albert Memorial. Inside 
it was no better. 

The interior of the house was decor- 
ated in a fashion to match the facade. 
The big hall, surrounded by galleries, 
which was the main feature of the inter- 
116 


BELLINGER HALL 


nal scheme, provided a very fair example 
of that style of decoration which Ruskin 
once referred to as “a cross between early 
Pullman and late North German Lloyd.” 
Plush settees filled every available corner. 
The roof was upheld by heavy carved pil- 
lars of imitation marble which would not 
have deceived a fly. An eminent British 
artist had adorned the ceiling with a 
scene representing “The Banquet of the 
Gods,” the latter being depicted as stout, 
decollete, improper-looking individuals, 
apparently attempting to stay the pangs 
of divine hunger with ambrosial food of 
a particularly unappetising kind. The 
full beauty of this masterpiece could only 
be appreciated by lying on one’s back on 
the floor, an attitude which few of my 
grandfather’s guests cared to adopt. 

The rest of the house was in keeping 
with the hall, though here and there some 
conspicuously audacious efforts had been 
made to introduce foreign novelties. Of 
these my grandmother’s French sitting- 
room supplied a good example, of which 
she and my grandfather were extremely 


117 


LORD BELLINGER 


proud until an old friend administered a 
severe shock to their vanity. One day, 
when old Sir Percy Bellinger was 
showing the Duchess of Bognor round the 
building, he flung open the door of this 
boudoir with pardonable vanity. “This,” 
he replied, “is our Louis Quinze room!” 
The Duchess gazed thoughtfully at it for 
a moment. “What makes you think so?” 
she enquired pleasantly enough. 

My grandfather almost ruined himself 
over the building operations, and alto- 
gether ruined the reputation of his archi- 
tect. On his death, when the property 
passed into my father’s hand, Bellinger 
Hall was not only a hideous house, as I 
have described, but also an extremely un- 
comfortable one. My father, however, 
soon altered all this. He began by instal- 
ling electric light; added an indoor ten- 
nis-court, a swimming-bath, three new 
wings, an elevator and an Aeolian self- 
playing organ, and turned the private 
chapel into a billiard-room. The im- 
provements thus effected were remark- 
able. Tourists who were admitted on 
irS 


BELLINGER HALL 


Thursday afternoons (at a shilling a 
head) to inspect the old oak-panelled re- 
ception-rooms, crowded with priceless 
furniture of every possible period which 
my father’s agents had picked up for him 
at various sales all over the world, could 
not help declaring that here at any rate 
auctions spoke louder than words. 

When my parents had been definitely 
settled for some years in Bellinger Hall 
they set about more seriously than ever to 
make their new home as habitable as pos- 
sible. Hot-water pipes were laid along 
passages that had been hitherto unendur- 
ably cold in winter; the reproductions of 
Landseer’s masterpieces which adorned 
the dining-room were replaced by valu- 
able old prints; the cases of stuffed birds 
that had long been the chief decoration 
of the big hall were consigned to the lum- 
ber-room, together with the late Sir Percy 
Bellinger’s collection of rare sea-shells 
and guillemots’ eggs. Paraffin lamps 
gave place, as I have already said, to elec- 
tric light; bathrooms sprang up like 
piagic all over the house; the relics long 


LORD BELLINGER 


associated with the memory of my saint- 
ed grandmother — including a number of 
milking-stools and tambourines, hand- 
painted with designs of blackberries and 
autumn leaves, and a varied assortment 
of china dogs of the most depressing 
breeds — were sent to the Vicar’s parish 
jumble sale; and in due course Bellinger 
Hall, though still externally hideous, be- 
came as luxurious and comfortable a resi- 
dence as the heart of the most fastidious 
could desire. 

It was for many years one of the most 
popular country houses in England, and 
Royalty itself on more than one occasion 
condescended to honour my father by ac- 
cepting his hospitality, shooting his 
pheasants and tasting his famous old Ma- 
deira. On such occasions no expense was 
spared in the entertainment of the party, 
and, after a long day’s covert shooting, 
the guests would spend a happy evening 
playing Bridge or some other less intel- 
lectual card-game while they listened to 
the band which had been especially ord- 
ered from London for their delectation. 


120 


BELLINGER HALL 


My mother was, as I have explained, 
very musical, and usually insisted upon 
the engagement of Herr Bassano’s well- 
known Pink Viennese Band. For less im- 
portant parties, however, when only our 
close personal friends were present and 
there were no Royalties, an excellent but 
much less expensive orchestra from 
Maidstone was rightly considered to be 
more suitable. My mother’s taste in mu- 
sic was eminently catholic; she believed 
in encouraging all forms of melody. Di- 
rectly the band had finished playing the 
Liebestod from Tristan she would look 
up from her card-table, and say, with that 
charming smile of hers: “That was de- 
lightful, Herr Bassano. Now do you 
think you could give us ^Uncle Jonah’s 
Teddy Bears?’” The appreciation of 
good music is infectious, and when a par- 
ty of our guests at Bellinger has been 
engaged in playing “Animal Grab,” 
“Cheating,” “Demon Pounce,” or some 
other rather noisy game, within a few 
yards of the orchestra, I have often known 
them to lower their voices perceptibly 


I2I 


LORD BELLINGER 


during the performance of the Preislied 
from Wagner’s Meistersingers. Some- 
times even, when the band’s rendering of 
a composition by Dvorak was particular- 
ly moving, the cardplayers would cease 
shouting altogether for a few moments 
in order to listen to the music. Their 
thoughtfulness was well rewarded by a 
sight of the look of pleasure and astonish- 
ment upon Herr Bassano’s expressive 
face. Though he had no desire, as he of- 
ten assured me, to interrupt their conver- 
sation, it was nevertheless very gratifying 
for him to feel that some of the audience 
occasionally realised that his band was 
playing. 

Bellinger Hall could at a pinch hold 
twenty-five guests, with their retainers, 
and, as my parents were both hospitably 
inclined, the house was generally crowd- 
ed with friends from Saturday evening 
to Monday morning throughout the sum- 
mer. These week-end parties at Bellin- 
ger were always a great success. As the 
last guest drove away to the station on 
Monday morning, my dear mother would 


122 


BELLINGER HALL 


turn to her husband with a smile of re- 
lief and say, ^‘Thank goodness that's over! 
But I think they enjoyed themselves, 
John, don’t you?” To which my father 
could conscientiously reply in the affirm- 
ative. 

My twenty-ninth birthday happened 
to occur upon a Sunday in July during 
one of those lovely summers which we so 
rarely enjoy in England. Out of regard 
for my wishes the usual week-end party 
at Bellinger Hall had been abandoned, 
in order that I might spend the anniver- 
sary of my birth quietly with my family. 
I had, however, invited my two best 
friends, Wynne and Ginger Hazelton, to 
help me celebrate the occasion. 

They arranged to catch the 6:45 from 
Charing Cross, arriving just in time to 
dress for dinner, while I was to come 
down earlier in the afternoon. 

I arrived at Charing Cross station at 
about three o’clock on the Saturday, and 
strolled down the departure platform to 
a first-class smoking compartment. Here 
my man Gregson was waiting to hand me 


123 


LORD BELLINGER 

that sheaf of sporting papers with which 
it is my habit to relieve the tedium of a 
railway journey. 

Having ensconced myself comfortably 
in the far corner of the carriage, and ex- 
changed my hard billycock hat for a soft 
cloth cap, I selected the Sporting Times 
from my literary store and prepared to 
while away in as profitable a fashion as 
possible the hour that must elapse before 
I reached my destination. I was con- 
gratulating myself upon the good fortune 
which had secured for me an empty com- 
partment, when, just as the train was 
starting, the door was violently flung open 
and my privacy was invaded by a fellow- 
traveller. I was naturally much annoyed 
at this unwelcome intrusion, more espe- 
cially when I realised that the newcomer 
was a member of the fairer sex and that 
my hopes of smoking a cigar were con- 
sequently doomed to disappointment. 

Furtively glancing at my companion 
round the corner of my paper, I was 
somewhat relieved to find that she was an 
extremely goodlooking girl, young, well- 


124 


BELLINGER HALL 


dressed and attractive. I buried myself 
once more in the Pink ^Un and became so 
absorbed in a culinary article by the 
“Dwarf of Blood” that the train was half- 
way through the first tunnel before I real- 
ised that my fellow-traveller was vainly 
wrestling with a window which obstinate- 
ly withstood all her efforts to close it. 
Shocked at my own negligence, I sprang 
to her assistance, and together we man- 
aged to shut the window. As we did so 
the girl uttered an exclamation of dismay. 

“Is anything the matter?” I enquired 
politely, with the natural diffidence of one 
who addresses a stranger of the opposite 
sex. 

“A dreadful thing has happened,” she 
explained, holding out an empty hand, 
“IVe dropped my ticket down inside the 
door!” 

I expressed my sympathy in suitable 
terms, and spent the next ten minutes in 
adding my own to my companion’s at- 
tempts to retrieve the lost ticket. All our 
efforts proved abortive, however, and, 
short of turning the carriage upside down. 


125 


LORD BELLINGER 


there seemed to be no possible means of 
regaining the precious piece of cardboard. 

“Please don’t bother any more,” said 
the girl at last. “It doesn’t matter a bit. 
I’m so sorry. Thank you very much.” 

I murmured something incoherent to 
the effect that it was no trouble at all, and 
returned to my corner of the carriage. 
The paper had, however, lost all interest 
for me, and for the next half hour I found 
myself reading the same paragraph over 
and over again without understanding a 
word of it, while my eyes showed an un- 
controllable tendency to stray in the direc- 
tion of my fellow-traveller. She happen- 
ed to look up once to find my gaze con- 
centrated upon her; whereupon we both 
blushed furiously and resumed the peru- 
sal of our papers with redoubled energy. 

At Paddock Green a harassed railway 
official appeared upon the scene and 
asked for the travellers’ tickets. I pro- 
duced mine at once, but for obvious rea- 
sons my companion was unable to follow 
my example. She explained her inability 
at some length to the ticket-collector, and 


126 


BELLINGER HALL 


begged him to peer down into the recesses 
of the carriage-door and verify her state- 
ments. That official, however, was bless- 
ed with but little imagination and still 
less patience, and, after listening to an 
elaborate account of the accident, insisted 
that the ticket must be produced or, in 
default, the fare paid in full. The train 
was already ten minutes late, he observed, 
and he had no time to argue the case. The 
price of the ticket would no doubt be re- 
funded by the Company on receipt of a 
plausible explanation of its loss. 

‘T do hope I’ve got enough money to 
pay,” said the girl, as she extracted a gold 
chain purse from her dressing-bag and, 
after much fumbling, proceeded to empty 
its contents upon one of the seats of the 
carriage. The ticket-collector and I 
watched the appearance of a varied as- 
sortment of articles with the interested 
eyes of spectators at an exhibition of con- 
juring. The purse seemed indeed to pos- 
sess many of the qualities of a wizard’s 
magic bag. It disgorged its contents in as 
generous a fashion as that tall hat which 


127 


LORD BELLINGER 


the conjuror borrows from a member of 
the audience, which is invariably found to 
contain a colony of rabbits, a bowl of 
gold-fish, half a dozen pigeons and yard 
upon yard of coloured ribbon. From the 
recesses of this diminutive purse there 
first of all appeared a small powder-pufi, 
two lace handkerchiefs and a packet of 
pins. These were speedily followed by a 
bundle of letters, a list of books to be 
ordered from the library (which, we may 
assume, had not been ordered) , and a long 
jewelled chain to which were attached 
half a dozen charms and a gold pencil 
with no lead in it. To the heap that was 
now rising on the carriage-seat were grad- 
ually added a box of chocolates, three pat- 
terns of silk which their owner had spent 
the morning vainly trying to match at 
Starr and Garter’s, and an unused kodak- 
film. Last of all came a two-shilling 
piece, four coppers, and a rather dingy 
halfpenny stamp. 

‘‘Six and eightpence is the fare, miss,” 
said the ticket-collector, as the girl looked 
up enquiringly into his face with these 


128 


BELLINGER HALL 


coins in her hand. She counted them over 
slowly. 

“Two and fourpence halfpenny?” she 
enquired tentatively. 

“Six and eight,” sternly repeated the 
man. He gazed without emotion at the 
pathetic treasures which were strewn up- 
on the cushions, and was apparently un- 
moved by their silent appeal. 

The girl’s face fell as she suddenly 
realised that there was no prospect of her 
being able to pay the required fare. Per- 
haps in imagination she saw herself being 
arrested for attempting to defraud the 
Railway Company, haled back to Char- 
ing Cross in the guard’s van, and thence, 
like Eugene Aram, setting forth to Bow 
Street between two sternfaced men, with 
gyves upon her wrists. 

I had been watching with deep but si- 
lent sympathy the conflicting emotions 
which were only too visible upon my com- 
panion’s expressive countenance. 

“If you will allow me — ” I began. 

“Oh, I couldn’t dream of it, really,” she 
replied, brushing me politely aside. The 


129 


LORD BELLINGER 


idea of accepting money from a complete 
stranger was, I suppose, naturally repug- 
nant to her. 

“Six and eightpence,” demanded the in- 
exorable ticket-collector, weary with 
waiting. 

“You really must/' I insisted. 

“If you don’t think ” 

“Of course not!” 

Without heeding her further expostu- 
lations I drew forth a sovereign from my 
trouser’s pocket, paid the impatient of- 
ficial, and accepted my change and a writ- 
ten receipt for the money. 

The train resumed its interrupted jour- 
ney, and passengers who had thrust their 
heads out of the carriage windows ceased 
cursing the stationmaster or facetiously 
extolling the extraordinary speed and 
punctuality of South Eastern expresses, 
and returned to the perusal of their pa- 
pers. 

During the remaining twenty minutes 
that elapsed before reaching the wayside 
Kentish station for which we were bound, 
my new acquaintance and I conversed 


130 


BELLINGER HALL 


freely on the subject of the lost ticket. 
From this the conversation took a more 
personal turn, and we were glad to dis- 
cover that Thorley was our mutual des- 
tination. I was going to Bellinger, as I 
have already explained, while my com- 
panion told me that she was also on her 
way to spend Sunday with her father, 
whose name she did not however divulge. 

When the train reached Thorley I 
found myself singularly loth to leave my 
new friend. With a cunning of which I 
believe her to have been entirely unsus- 
picious I insisted that she must be feeling 
faint, after such a trying experience, and 
led her across to the refreshment-room in 
search of tea. Here a sharp-featured lady 
angrily served us with two cups of a dark- 
coloured fluid that had evidently been 
stewing on the counter for some hours, 
dealt out two stale buns with her fingers 
onto two damp and rather greasy-looking 
plates, dumped down a bowl of dusty 
sugar and a jug of bilious milk in front 
of us, charged us a shilling for the meal, 
and eyed us suspiciously while we con- 
sumed it. 


LORD BELLINGER 


We spent a happy quarter-of-an-hour 
discussing the buns, while my father’s 
horses and the girl’s family coachman 
snorted with impatience at the door. It 
was finally with much regret that we said 
goodbye and departed in our separate con- 
veyances to our respective goals. 

I reached Bellinger in time for a sec- 
ond tea, and my friends Hazelton and 
Wynne arrived later. The next morning, 
as we sat round the billiard-room after 
breakfast, discussing the weather, I re- 
counted my romantic adventure, much to 
the amusement of my guests. Wynne took 
the gloomiest view of the affair, and de- 
clared that I should never see my money 
again. In this he was entirely wrong, for 
the very next morning I received a pos- 
tal order for 6s 8d, wrapped in a sheet of 
paper inscribed with the simple words 
“Many thanks.” This delighted me so 
much that I made up my mind to leave 
no stone unturned to discover the identity 
of my fair travelling-companion. Cir- 
cumstances, however, arose which drove 
the idea temporarily from my mind, and I 


132 


BELLINGER HALL 

am ashamed to say that it was not for over 
a year that I gave more than a passing 
thought to the lady whom I had met so 
romantically in the train. 

The billiard-room at Bellinger was one 
of the few rooms in the house that had 
never been touched since the days of my 
grandfather. It still bore abundant evi- 
dence of his peculiar taste. A stuffed pen- 
guin gazed superciliously down from the 
mantelpiece, and one corner of the room 
was completely filled by a huge glass case 
in which a moth-eaten otter might be ob- 
served engaged in dissecting a salmon, 
while in the background a snipe was 
mournfully contemplating her young. 
The walls were decorated with a curious 
profusion of various trophies of the chase, 
ranging from the head of a mountain-goat 
to the fin of a tarpon. The coalscuttle was 
fashioned from an elephant’s hoof ; a stuff- 
ed ourang-outang stood by the door, hold- 
ing out a tray for drinks; and a large 
tiger-skin hearthrug, fitted with the most 
alarming set of real teeth, formed a na- 
tural booby-trap over which each unsus- 
pecting guest stumbled in turn. 


133 


LORD BELLINGER 


Hazelton was in the middle of a rather 
humorous anecdote (which he had been 
told by a friend in the city) when my 
father entered the room. The story came 
to an abrupt conclusion as Lord Bellinger 
appeared. 

“If anybody cares about sea-shells,” re- 
marked the latter, addressing himself par- 
ticularly to Wynne, “you ought to see my 
poor father’s collection upstairs. He got 
hold of some very rare sea-birds too, in 
Asia Minor.” 

Wynne greeted the suggestion with a 
polite non-committal smile, but Hazelton 
was in a more than usually frivolous 
mood. 

“Do I care about sea-shells?” he said. 
“ ^Care’ is not the word! I love periwin- 
kles with a devotion that mocks the power 
of words! Rare sea-birds, too, affect me 
profoundly. As for penguins, I have a 
perfect passion for them! I’d willingly 
walk twelve miles to gaze into the face 
of a defunct cormorant, or commune with 
an embalmed puffin. I simply worship 
the ground that seamews tread on! In 


134 


BELLINGER HALL 


fact, I often go to the Zoo on purpose to 
pat them.” 

poor father left a good many of 
his finest specimens to the South Kensing- 
ton Museum,” continued Lord Bellinger, 
who was too well accustomed to Hazel- 
ton’s foolishness to take any notice of it. 

^^Indeed?” said Wynne, but without 
much enthusiasm. 

“He shot a remarkable beast off the 
coast of the Hebrides, when he was a 
young man. Something of a dotterell in 
appearance. I forget what name he gave 
it.” 

“Dotterellonthecrumpet, I expect,” 
suggested the irrepressible Hazelton. 
“Answers to the name of Willie. The 
only animal that habitually flies back- 
wards to keep the dust out of its eyes!” 

Wynne regarded the speaker with ob- 
vious disapproval, which the latter did 
not seem to notice. 

“When I hear the plaintive voice of the 
curlew,” he continued, “my bosom — ” 

At this moment the door opened and 
my mother appeared upon the scene. 


LORD BELLINGER 


“Are you coming to church, Captain 
Ginger?” she enquired. “You don’t look 
as though you were dressed for the part.” 

Hazelton was wearing a very lightcol- 
oured flannel suit with a red and blue 
“Guards” tie and white tennis-shoes. 

“Ah,” he retorted, “there’s many a de- 
vout heart beats beneath a loud check suit! 
But I think I shall struggle to keep away 
from church this Sunday. I went last 
Christmas, and I don’t want to become a 
slave to a habit of any kind. But I shall 
certainly hold an open-air service of my 
own on the golfcourse. All are welcome, 
and there will be a collection afterwards 
for the deserving poor — by which I mean 
myself.” 

“The golfcourse doesn’t seem a very 
suitable place,” said my father, who was 
fond of a joke, “judging from the lan- 
guage one usually associates with the 
game.” 

“On the contrary,” pursued Hazelton. 
“It’s just the spot for a sermon. Who 
knows? I might convert one or two con- 
firmed golfers, if I were only eloquent 
enough.” 


BELLINGER HALL 


He assumed an unctuous manner and 
a melancholy voice which he doubtless in- 
tended to be typically clerical. 

“The world, my brethren, is one long 
Links of woe,” he intoned. “Life is a 
game of golf. The caddy. Conscience, is 
ever at our elbow! Let us then keep our 
eyes fixed upon the ball 1 Let us look for- 
ward to the ^green’ where we would be! 

So that when Bogey ” 

“I think this is very flippant,” said my 
mother interrupting him. 

“Let us arm ourselves with the 

^driver’ of Devotion, with the ^mashie’ of 
Mercy, with the sputter’ of Purity! Then, 
my friends, when we fall into the yawning 
bunker of Temptation, we may lay hold 

with both hands of the niblick of ” 

“I don’t care about this sort of joke 
at all,” once more my mother inter- 
posed. 

“I’m sorry. Lady Bellinger,” said Haz- 
elton. “I’ve always thought golf such a 
peculiarly sacred subject. I should wish 
nothing better than for my epitaph to 
read: ‘He lay dead in two!’ ” 


137 


LORD BELLINGER 


^^Nonsense! I don’t believe you know 
anything about the game either.” 

“Not know anything about golf? Why, 
Lady Bellinger, I never do anything 
else, day or night! I always go to bed 
with a ‘putter’ under my pillow, in 
case I wake up early. So useful; I 
can putt myself to sleep again in a 
moment.” 

“What’s your handicap?” asked my 
father. 

“I haven’t got one, but if I had it would 
be about minus scratch. Why, I did the 
short hole at Biarritz in one, last year, and 
would have done it in less but for the high 
wind.” 

“Really? I didn’t know you were a 
golfer.” 

“And this is fame!” groaned Hazel- 
ton. “Why, I’m the man who invented 
the notorious golfball that simply can't be 
lost! Even if you send it into the ‘rough’ 
it tees itself up on the nearest tuft of grass 
and squeaks loudly for help until it’s 
found. You can hear it calling for mas- 
ter a long way off.” 


138 


BELLINGER HALL 


“So you’re an inventor too,” said Lady 
Bellinger. 

“You’ve only to listen to his conversa- 
tion — ” put in Algy Wynne sotto voce. 

“Yes,” replied Ginger. “I taught Edi- 
son everything. What he knows and I’ve 
forgotten would fill a fattish book.” 

“What’s your latest discovery?” 

“I’m trying to patent a peculiar golf- 
club, a ‘driver,’ particularly suitable for 
beginners. The beauty of it is that there’s 
a little trapdoor in the face of it. When 
you drive off the tee the door opens auto- 
matically and admits the ball into a secret 
chamber in the head of the club. The ball 
disappears, of course, and everybody 
thinks that you’ve made a wonderful 
drive.” 

“Well?” 

“Well, then you shade your eyes, gaz- 
ing away across the illimitable veldt to 
the distant horizon, as though following 
the flight of your ball towards the hole, 
and start walking to the green. By press- 
ing a button in the handle of the club the 
trapdoor opens and the ball may be sur- 


139 


LORD BELLINGER 


reptitiously dropped wherever you like as 
you approach the flag.” 

“But wouldn’t that be cheating?” asked 
my mother. 

“I believe some straitlaced oldfashion- 
ed persons might so style it,” he admitted. 
“But after all, there must be disadvant- 
ages to every new discovery. And I 
really believe that the introduction of 
such a weapon as mine will revolutionise 
the game of golf, if indeed it doesn’t put 
a stop to it altogether.” 

“It’s a quarter to eleven,” said my fath- 
er suddenly, looking at his watch. “We 
mustn’t talk any more nonsense.” 

“Bellinger and I are going to church,” 
added my mother, “but nobody need come 
who doesn’t want to.” 

“I have to read the lessons,” explained 
my father apologetically. 

“I shall certainly come,” said Wynne. 
“The choir sing so well, and Mr. Silsoe 
never preaches for more than a quarter of 
an hour.” 

“Almost thou persuadest me — ” Hazel- 
ton began. 


140 


BELLINGER HALL 


“Now then, Captain Ginger,” said my 
mother, “you had better come too.” 

“What have I done to deserve this?” 
he asked with a groan. 

“It’s what you haven^t done. You 
haven’t been to church for ages, and you 
know it.” 

“Aren’t I too old to begin?” he pleaded. 

“Certainly not!” My mother became 
inexorable. 

“Go upstairs at once and put on some 
respectable clothes, and be ready to start 
in five minutes.” 

“Truly the way of the ungodly is hard!” 
said Hazelton as he retired to obey the 
commands of his hostess. 

I did not go to church myself that Sun- 
day, having a great deal of important cor- 
respondence to deal with. 1 was there- 
fore still sitting in the billiard-room when 
the rest of the party returned from ser- 
vice. 

“Was it nice?” I asked. “Did I miss 
much?” 

“You missed the Litany,” said my 
mother. 


LORD BELLINGER 


^Trom all sick persons and young 
children, Good Lord, deliver us!” mur- 
mured Hazelton. 

“And we had a harvest thanksgiving,” 
said Wynne gloomily. 

“Rather early in the season,” added my 
mother. “They haven’t carried the crops 
yet, but Mr. Silsoe likes to have it while 
we’re still here, and, as you know, Dick, 
we go to Scotland next week.” 

“The pews were beautifully decorat- 
ed,” said Wynne, “and we had good 
hymns.” 

“Yes,” Hazelton remarked, 

“Little drops of water. 

Little grains of sand. 

Make the milkman wealthy. 

And the grocer grand!” 

“There was a melon in the font,” he 
pursued, “that fairly made my mouth 
water, and I thought the hops round the 
pulpit most appropriate. But we were 
halfway through the extremely proper 
psalms for this morning’s service before I 
discovered that I had been kneeling on a 


142 


BELLINGER HALL 


tomatoe. I can’t help thinking it a mis- 
take to decorate the chancel with bananas, 
first of all because they can hardly be 
termed a homegrown fruit, and secondly 
because its putting temptation in the way 
of the choirboys.' 

“Who’s coming to see the horses?” 
asked my father, suddenly changing the 
subject. 

“I’m not,” replied Hazelton at once 
with determination. 

“Aren’t you fond of animals?” 

“Certainly. But I don’t like them 
enough to spend an hour on a fine Sunday 
morning examining twenty-five carriage 
horses, one at a time, and making intelli- 
gent remarks about their legs to a coach- 
man who sees through me from the start. 
I belong to a League,” he continued, 
“whose members are bound by the most 
sacred oath to stay away from the stables 
after church. Our crest is very pretty — 
two crossed carrots rampant surmounted 
by a lump of sugar gules. I believe every- 
body would like to join us, if they had 
the pluck.” 


143 


LORD BELLINGER 


“I certainly shouldn’t,” said my mother. 
“I love the dear things, with their soft 
velvet noses and their satin coats.” 

“Then you’d love the members of my 
League,” replied Hazelton. “We all have 
satin coats, and waistcoats too, and our 
noses are more like velvet than any noses 
you ever met. We have them ironed with 
our top-hats every morning. Look at my 
nose, all of you! Isn’t it a dream? The 
maiden’s plush!” 

I have ventured to give this trivial 
glimpse into our simple life at Bellinger 
Hall for the purpose of showing how 
happy we all were at this time, and how 
utterly unprepared for the catastrophe 
that was so soon to overwhelm us. This 
I propose to describe in another chapter. 


144 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE FIRE. 

It was our habit at Bellinger to retire 
to bed earlier than usual on Sunday eve- 
nings. We spent a pleasant hour or two 
after dinner singing hymns and sacred 
glees, and at about half-past ten the but- 
ler announced the arrival of barley-water 
and bedroom-candlestocks, and we troop- 
ed off to our rooms. 

My bedroom was an apartment of the 
kind ordinarily assigned to bachelors, 
small and cheerless, overlooking the back 
porch. It was the room I had always oc- 
cupied as a boy, and for the sake of old 
associations I loved it and had often re- 
fused to move into a larger one. A writ- 
ing-table stood by the window, furnished 
with paper and pens and ink, a printed 
notice showing the hours of meals and of 
the arrival and departure of the daily 
post, and a card containing a short resume 
of the local railway timetable. A small 


145 


LORD BELLINGER 


gilt clock, whose hands pointed menda- 
ciously to a quarter past six, ticked furi- 
ously on the mantelpiece, as though try- 
ing to make up for lost time. An engrav- 
ing of “The SouPs Awakening” on one 
wall was balanced by a copy of “The 
Gambler’s Wife” on the other, while 
over the bed hung a few cheap sporting 
prints and a photograph of a Botticelli 
Madonna. 

The habit of labelling things was strong 
in my father’s household. All the match- 
boxes were labelled “Matches,” and the 
cakes of soap had “Soap” written across 
them, so that there could be no possible 
excuse for mistaking one for the other. A 
small drinking-trough in the hall was 
carefully marked “Dog,” presumably 
with the object of preventing absentmind- 
ed visitors from making use of it; and 
outside my bedroom were three scarlet 
pails of water inscribed with the legend 
“Fire Only,” as though to warn off (or 
assist) the thoughtless guest who might be 
tempted to slake his thirst during the 
night. 


146 


THE FIRE 


For a long time I could not get to sleep. 
My room seemed unaccountably hot and 
stuffy, and though I opened the window 
as wide as possible and held the door ajar 
with a book, I was conscious of an atmos- 
phere of airlessness and oppression which 
kept me wide awake for more than half 
the night. 

I lay listening to the stable clock chim- 
ing the hours, one and two and three 
o’clock, with that hideous interval be- 
tween each stroke whose terror only the 
victim of habitual insomnia can fully ap- 
preciate, and began to think that sleep was 
to be for ever denied me. I pictured my- 
self coming down to breakfast with a hag- 
gard face, telling everybody that I hadn’t 
slept a wink all night, a statement which 
they would not believe, or, if they did, 
would probably take not the slightest in- 
terest in. 

It was nearly four o’clock when I fin- 
ally dosed off, and I was justly aggrieved 
at being awakened half an hour later by 
an extraordinary noise which proceeded 
from the adjoining room which was oc- 
cupied by Algernon Wynne. 

147 


LORD BELLINGER 

I sat up in bed and listened. From the 
scuffling sounds which I could hear faint- 
ly through the intervening wall it seemed 
to me that my neighbour must be en- 
gaged in a rat hunt. Furniture appeared 
to be overturned, and there was the oc- 
casional crash of broken crockery. 

I was about to get out of bed to investi- 
gate the matter when my door was pushed 
open and Wynne appeared on the thresh- 
old with a pale and startled face. 

“Have you got any salt?” he demanded 
abruptly. 

“Salt? No, of course not. What on 
earth do you mean? Is there a bird in 
your bedroom?” 

“My beastly chimney’s caught fire,” he 
answered, “and I can’t put it out. I’ve 
poured about a ton of water on to 
it, but it’s still alight and burning like 
blazes.” 

I hurriedly put on a dressing gown and 
accompanied my friend to his room. The 
fire had been raked out into the fender, 
and the smouldering embers were splut- 
tering in a pool of water in the rapidly 
148 


THE FIRE 


rusting grate. A dull roaring sound and 
a lurid gleam of light from the chimney 
proclaimed without doubt that the flue 
was well alight. 

“There’s a trap door at the end of the 
passage,” I said. “It probably leads on to 
the tiles. We’d better go up there and 
sluice the chimney from above.” 

Wynne and I ran along the landing, 
found a small ladder hooked up to the 
wall, propped it against the trap door in 
the ceiling and passed through on to the 
roof. Smoke and flames were issuing 
from the chimney in great quantities. 

“By Jove, it’s burning! Eh?” exclaim- 
ed Wynne in some alarm. 

“You bet it is!” I said. “You stay 
here,” I added. “There’s a row of buckets 
in the passage. I’ll hand them up to you.” 

The contents of the three pails marked 
“Fire Only” were poured down the flar- 
ing chimney, but had as little effect as the 
liquid (suspected by some of being petro- 
leum) with which Elijah encouraged the 
combustion of his altar pyre. The water 
only seemed to stimulate the conflagra- 


149 


LORD BELLINGER 


tion, and it was evident that more drastic 
measures must be taken to subdue it. 

^‘Feel the roof,’’ said Wynne suddenly. 
^^It’s quite hot. It’s burning through my 
slippers.” 

‘^So it is. This is a bigger job than wc 
thought. We’d better get assistance. 
What on earth did you want with a fire 
in your bedroom on a hot night like this?” 
I asked indignantly. 

thought it rather cold when I dress- 
ed for dinner, so I lit it. Is there a fire 
brigade near?” 

“Yes,” I answered. “I’ll go downstairs 
and telephone to Thorley for the engine.” 

I ran back to my room and quickly 
donned some of my evening clothes which 
were lying in a confused heap on a chair 
by the bed. As I hurriedly caught up my 
gold watch and chain from the dressing- 
table a piece of plaster fell upon my head 
from the corner of the ceiling. Looking 
out of the window I saw that the whole 
front of the house was brightly illumined 
by the fire on the roof. 

There was no time to lose. I jammed 


ISO 


THE FIRE 


the back of a chair against the button of 
the electric bell beside the fireplace, in 
such a way that it would ring continuously 
in the basement and thus arouse the ser- 
vants. Having done this I ran along the 
corridor, descended the main staircase and 
so reached the ^^business room” where the 
telephone was kept. I managed with 
some difficulty to establish communication 
with the Thorley post-office and explain- 
ed the situation. I then hastened to the 
servants’ quarters, and in a short time 
had aroused the whole household, includ- 
ing the night-watchman whom I discov- 
ered asleep in the pantry. 

Meanwhile the flames had spread with 
startling rapidity, and the clouds of 
smoke issuing from the bachelors’ wing 
rendered it impossible for anyone to ap- 
proach the actual seat of the conflagration. 

My mother was one of the first to ap- 
pear upon the scene, clad in a short dress- 
ing-jacket and petticoat, and armed with 
a waterbottle which she had picked up 
from a neighbouring washhandstand. 
Her contribution towards the general en- 


LORD BELLINGER 


deavour to arrest the progress of the fire 
consisted in vaguely hurling the water- 
bottle, glass and all, in the direction of the 
flames. Had her aim been as excellent as 
her intention it is doubtful whether this 
pint of water could have stemmed the 
course of the fire. As it was, the water- 
bottle spent itself comparatively harmless- 
ly upon the head of the second-footman 
who was gallantly attempting to manipu- 
late a “patent fire extinguisher” which 
long disuse had rendered impotent. 

In the meantime my father hurriedly 
despatched a servant to the stables to sum- 
mon the private fire-engine, an old-fash- 
ioned affair, worked by hand, which had 
not been in use for over half a century. 

The head coachman had, of course, mis- 
laid the key of the shed in which the en- 
gine was kept, and by the time the doors 
had been broken open and the ramshackle 
old machine dragged by many willing 
hands to the front of the house, half the 
roof was on fire, and there seemed no rea- 
son to suppose that the other half would 
not shortly follow suit. 


152 


THE FIRE 


With some difficulty a length of hose 
was attached to the main, and panting 
stablemen began to work the pumps with 
less skill than goodwill. But either be- 
cause the water-supply was inadequate, or 
the hose leaked in a hundred different 
places, or the fire-engine was so primitive 
as to be useless, their labours only resulted 
in a thin jet of water which rose like a toy 
fountain to an altitude of about ten feet 
and then fell harmlessly on the outer 
walls of Bellinger Hall. As a means of 
watering the plants in the garden our 
private fire-engine might possibly have 
been effectual, but for the purpose of ex- 
tinguishing a fire it was altogether futile. 

Hazelton had by this time turned up 
and on his suggestion a different plan was 
adopted. He arranged all the available 
menservants in a long line from the foun- 
tain to the house, and buckets were passed 
from one to the other as rapidly as pos- 
sible. This human chain, by which it 
was supposed to supplement, or rather re- 
place, the useless hose, would have been 
more effectual but for the spasmodic anx- 


153 


LORD BELLINGER 


iety of its links to hasten the course of the 
replenished pails. Their zeal defeated its 
own object. Each bucket would leave the 
fountain filled to the brim, and then grad- 
ually empty itself over the boots of all 
who handled it, until by the time it reach- 
ed the burning edifice there was only a 
teaspoonful or so of water left to testify 
to the energy and devotion of the volun- 
teer fire brigade. The butler, whose duty 
it was, as the final link of the chain, to 
cast the contents of the bucket upon the 
flames, was so overcome by the respon- 
sibility of his position that on three separ- 
ate occasions he added fuel to the fire by 
casting the bucket in as well. 

We soon realised that this system of 
spraying the scorching house with a light 
sprinkling of water was as useless as the 
private fire apparatus. 

“I’m afraid we must wait for the Thor- 
ley engine,” said my father at last. “We 
can do nothing but salvage work until it 
arrives.” 

“It ought to be here shortly,” I put in. 
“I telephoned an hour ago.” 


154 


THE FIRE 


the meantime we had better turn 
to and fetch out all the valuables. We can 
pile them here on the lawn. It’s a fine 
morning and they won’t be hurt.” 

Servants, gardeners, stablemen, helpers 
and the night-watchman (by this time 
wide awake) set to work upon the task of 
removing the pictures and furniture to a 
safe place, and presently a large heap of 
the more precious of my father’s house- 
hold gods was raised about forty yards 
away on the tennis-lawn. The two Van- 
dycks from the dining-room were care- 
fully swathed in blankets and placed in a 
summerhouse, together with the huge 
square of tapestry in the hall representing 
Aeneas taking a lachrymose farewell of 
Dido. 

Hazelton came struggling out of the 
door bearing a huge stuffed bird in his 
arms. 

^T’ve saved Percy the penguin, at the 
risk of my life!” he exclaimed joyfully. 
‘What price the Victoria cross?” 

He was followed by the second-coach- 
man, dragging out a large armchair of no 


155 


LORD BELLINGER 


earthly value. The man touched his hat 
to me as he passed, just as though nothing 
unusual were happening, and nearly col- 
lided with the hall-boy who was carrying 
the bust of Charles James Fox which had 
stood for so long at the top of the stairs. 

Mr. Minting, my father’s agent, bicycl- 
ed up at this moment, and after a few 
words of condolence hastened to the “busi- 
ness room” to save such of the estate pa- 
pers, receipts and other documents, as 
were stored in the pigeon-holes of that 
gloomy apartment. 

At any other time our appearance 
would have evoked merriment. Wynne 
had hurriedly encased his legs in white 
flannel trousers, borrowing a sable coat 
from the front hall on his way out, to com- 
plete his attire. Hazelton was the only 
member of the houseparty who might be 
called properly dressed. He had arrayed 
himself in full evening garb, with white 
waistcoat, diamond solitaire and patent 
leather pumps, though the wall of his 
room had actually cracked as he was ty- 
ing his “butterfly” tie. His immaculate 
156 


THE FIRE 


appearance did not however prevent him 
from doing his share in the work, and he 
entered into the spirit of the thing com- 
pletely, making the salvage of my late 
grandfather’s museum his especial care. 
It is indeed unlikely that in the annals of 
our domestic history there is any record of 
a man having saved so many stuffed birds 
from destruction. 

My mother’s little Aberdeen terrier. 
Bramble, too, was working as hard as any- 
body. To Bramble the whole affair ap- 
peared in the light of a rat-hunt on a 
gigantic scale, and he consequently en- 
joyed himself thoroughly. Each time a 
piece of furniture was moved Bramble 
would make a dart behind it, in the hope 
of securing the rodent in search of which 
his human friends were evidently deter- 
mined to turn the whole place upside 
down. He had a particularly good time 
in the ^^business-room.” Here he dis- 
covered a pigeonhole full of documents 
which no one else had touched. In imi- 
tation of Mr. Minting he dragged these 
out on to the floor, and then (unlike Mr. 


157 


LORD BELLINGER 


Minting) proceeded to worry them to 
pieces. One large bundle he brought out 
on to the lawn and laid at his mistress’s 
feet, awaiting the praise which his efforts 
undoubtedly deserved. My mother 
picked up the parcel and saw that it ap- 
peared to contain a number of plans and 
maps. She handed it to my father who 
happened to be passing at the moment. 

^ Where did you find these?” he asked, 
examining the papers with care. 

“Bramble brought them out,” she ex- 
plained. 

“This is a most valuable find,” replied 
my father. “Most valuable indeed. 
There is nothing I would not sooner have 
lost. Good little dog!” He stopped to 
pat Bramble, but the dog scorned his 
thanks and rushed off after Wynne who 
was just re-entering the drawing-room 
window. 

The butler came running up at the same 
moment. 

“The engine’s arrived, m’lord,” he ex- 
claimed. 

“I’m afraid its too late to do much 


158 


THE FIRE 


good,” said my father resignedly, with 
true prophetic instinct. 

It was indeed nearly seven o’clock be- 
fore the engine from Thorley came 
lurching up the avenue, too late to be of 
any practical use. 

The Thorley fire brigade was an ama- 
teur affair, and had seldom been called 
upon to extinguish anything more impor- 
tant than a stack of some local farmer’s 
straw. When I had telephoned to sum- 
mon the engine to Bellinger there had 
been a great commotion in the village. A 
good three quarters of an hour had elaps- 
ed before the members of the brigade 
could be collected, and it took another 
twenty minutes to borrow a pair of horses 
suited to the task of dragging the engine. 

The firemen took the precaution of for- 
tifying themselves with several glasses of 
whiskey and water at the “Bull” Inn be- 
fore starting. Two miles from Bellinger, 
as they were galloping round a sharp cor- 
ner, one of the horses slipped up on the 
side of the road and the engine was pre- 
cipitated headlong into the ditch. No one 


LORD BELLINGER 


was hurt (except the horse) — Providence 
being notoriously watchful of deciduous 
inebriates — but this accident added con- 
siderably to the delay. 

It was only with the assistance of a 
number of yokels, who were setting out to 
their morning’s work, that the engine was 
righted, and the injured animal replaced 
by a sound one. The firemen meanwhile 
partook freely from a bottle of spirits 
with which the captain of the brigade had 
wisely provided himself, in case of ac- 
cidents. When, therefore, they eventu- 
ally arrived at Bellinger, it was obvious 
to the meanest capacity that half their 
number were as Hazelton observed 
“blind to the world,” and the other half 
well on the road towards intoxication. 

As there was now no hope of saving 
the house from being gutted, my father 
felt much inclined to dispense altogether 
with their services. The roof had fallen 
in at several points, the first floor was un- 
approachable, and of all the downstairs 
rooms the drawing-room alone remained 
intact. But under the butler’s direction 

i6o 


THE FIRE 


the Thorley firemen managed to pull 
themselves together sufficiently to con- 
centrate their attention upon saving this 
portion of the building. Two of them, 
however, were so obviously incapable of 
any sober work that they were ordered 
away, and shuffled off in a tearful condi- 
tion to a safe distance, where they sat 
down on the lawn and proceeded to fall 
fast asleep. 

As there was considerable danger from 
falling beams, Hazelton and I borrowed 
the helmets of these two drunkards, and 
the work of salvage continued. 

Once a man gets an axe into his hands 
the temptation to chop down anything 
within reach is almost irresistible, and ten 
minutes after the Thorley firemen had 
been turned loose into the drawing-room 
of Bellinger Hall the few remaining con- 
tents of that room had been reduced to 
firewood. Insensate destruction is a vice 
common to all firemen. For whereas the 
ordinary individual desirous of saving a 
picture will lift it carefully from the 
wall, the man with the hatchet chops it 

i6i 


LORD BELLINGER 


down with a fierce blow, and the odds are 
a thousand to one that both frame and 
glass are broken to pieces. In the history 
of conflagrations it is a well-known fact 
that firemen have always done far more 
damage than the flames themselves, seem- 
ing to delight in a senseless demolition of 
whatever the fire has left untouched. 

The ceiling of the drawing-room was 
beginning to bulge in several places as I 
issued from the window for about the 
twentieth time, carrying a small bookcase 
on my head. With my face as black as 
pitch, and my eyes red and streaming, I 
looked more like a dissolute chimney- 
sweep than anything else, a suit of torn 
evening-clothes surmounted by a fire- 
man’s helmet adding considerably to the 
peculiarity of my appearance. 

“Is there nothing that I can do?” my 
dear mother asked, as she stood and 
watched us at work. “I want to be useful 
too.” 

“I’ll tell you what, mother,” I sug- 
gested. “You might see if you can collect 
some food. All those good people will be 


162 


THE FIRE 


as hungry as ravens when this show is 
over.” 

“Of course I will,” she answered eager- 
ly. “The dairy’s close by. I’ll go and see 
if they’ve got anything there.” 

At eight o’clock, after a brief consulta- 
tion with the butler, my father gave or- 
ders that no more attempts should be 
made to enter the burning building. Ten 
minutes later, the drawing-room ceiling 
fell in with a loud crash. 

The whole household, by this time thor- 
oughly exhausted, now collected upon the 
lawn and silently watched the demolition 
of their home, while the Thorley brigade 
continued to pour a stream of water upon 
the blackened walls. 

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any 
good,” I remarked to Hazelton in a quiet 
aside. “The house is heavily insured, I 
know, and we’ve managed to get out near- 
ly everything of value. Nobody could 
ever have possibly admired the architec- 
ture of Bellinger, and now my father will 
be able to rebuild it and make a really 
beautiful place of it.” 

163 


LORD BELLINGER 


Lord Bellinger was standing a few 
yards off, out of earshot. My mother 
came up and laid her hand on his 
arm. 

^Well, old girl,” said my father with 
an attempt at gaiety. ^‘The old place has 
gone this time, eh?” 

“We must only be thankful that no one 
has been hurt,” she replied with her usual 
unselfishness. “And now,” she added, 
“everybody must come and have some 
food. The maids and I have been busy 
for the last half hour scraping up a meal 
of some kind.” 

“By Jove, that’s thoughtful of you,” 
said Hazelton, “I could eat my hat, I’m 
so hungry.” 

A general adjournment was made to 
the dairy, where most of the women ser- 
vants were already assembled and two 
long tables had been prepared for break- 
fast. 

The meal consisted of large bowls of 
“scrambled eggs,” which the dairymaids 
had hastily cooked, hunks of bread and 
bowls of fresh milk. 


164 


THE FIRE 


‘‘Sit down everybody,” ordered my 
father, “and fall to! Come along, Pres- 
ton,” he added, turning to the headcoach- 
man. “Tell all the servants that there’s 
breakfast of a kind waiting for them 
here. 

“I want to thank you all very much for 
your help,” he continued, as the whole 
household sat down to the table and pre- 
pared to enjoy this improvised meal. 
“You’ve all worked like Trojans, and if 
we couldn’t save the old place, it isn’t any- 
body’s fault but my own. 

“I know you will be glad to hear,” he 
went on, “that among the many papers 
saved are the original designs made by 
my poor father’s architect.” Bramble 
wagged his tail selfconsciously under- 
neath the table. “It will therefore be pos- 
sible to rebuild Bellinger Hall upon ex- 
actly the old lines.” 

This announcement was greeted in re- 
spectful silence, though Hazelton could 
hardly help exclaiming “Good God!” un- 
der his breath, and I heard Wynne give 
vent to an audible groan. 

i6s 


LORD BELLINGER 


“And while I must apologise to every- 
body,” continued my father, turning to 
Wynne and Hazelton, “for having caused 
so much inconvenience, I hope that be- 
fore very long you will be present at an- 
other house-warming — of a pleasanter de- 
scription — at Bellinger Hall!” 

“Three cheers for Lord Bellinger!” 
cried the agent hysterically. 

“ ’Ip, ’ip, ’ip, ’ooray,” shouted the but- 
ler, and the cry was taken up by all the 
servants, and repeated until the rafters of 
the dairy rang with their cheers. 

A boy on a bicycle rode up at this mo- 
ment and handed a telegram to Lord Bel- 
linger. He passed it across to my mother 
who read it out. 

“So distressed to hear of your calam- 
ity,” it ran. “Hope you and all your 
friends will come as my guests to iVlimsey 
to-day. Am sending motors to fetch you. 
Shall expect you to luncheon. Stay as 
long as you like. LOUISE Pentland.” 

“Devilish kind of the old Duchess,” 
was my father’s comment. “It certainly 


i66 


THE FIRE 


solves the situation. I can arrange for the 
servants to move in to the Bull Hotel in 
the village to-night.” 

“I shall have to go to London anyhow,” 
said Hazelton, “IVe got a Court Martial, 
though I shall be several hours late for 
it.” 

“I’m afraid I must be off too,” added 
Wynne. “IVe got to be at the Foreign Of- 
fice soon after twelve.” 

“I’m sorry,” said my father. “But wc 
can easily send you to the station. The 
carriages and horses are all we have left 
in the way of hospitality to offer our 
guests.” 

“That reminds me,” I said. “I could 
do with a wash. Perhaps Preston could 
supply us with a bucket and a bit of soap.” 

“By all means,” answered my father. 
He called to the coachman. “Preston, 
take these gentlemen to your house, will 
you? and give theni everything they 
want.” 

“Very good, m’lord.” 

“Personally I shall require a curry- 
comb and a bran mash,” said Hazelton. 


167 


LORD BELLINGER 


‘‘And some carrots?’’ suggested Wynne. 

My two friends and I moved away to 
the stables, where the coachman supplied 
us with soap and towels and also lent us 
various garments from his own wardrobe 
to supplement our somewhat scanty at- 
tire. Wynne borrowed a livery coat with 
brass buttons and a cockaded hat in which 
he looked particularly comic, and Hazel- 
ton attired himself in a complete suit of 
Sunday clothes lent him by one of the 
stablemen. 

I washed the dirt from my hands and 
face in a bucket, got Mrs. Preston to sew 
up a rent in my evening trousers and was 
thus able to put in a fairly presentable 
appearance on my return to the garden. 

As there seemed to be little need for my 
presence beside the smouldering ashes of 
my home, I decided to travel up to Lon- 
don with Wynne and Hazelton. In half 
an hour we had taken a last look at the 
ruins of Bellinger Hall, and were on our 
way to the station. 

It was a blazing hot morning when 
Hazelton and I stepped into an empty 


i68 


THE FIRE 


first-class compartment of the London 
train. Wynne, still wearing his livery 
coat, elected to travel third-class as being 
more in keeping with his get-up. Our 
attire had provoked some natural curios- 
ity in the booking-office, and we were 
glad to escape into the seclusion of our 
respective railway carriages. My eve- 
ning dress, much bedraggled, was cover- 
ed but not concealed by a thin overcoat, 
while one of my father’s old black slouch 
hats of immense proportions, rescued 
from the front hall, reposed on Hazel- 
ton’s narrow head and threatened at any 
moment to engulph it. 

At Paddock Green my companion hur- 
riedly withdrew his patent-leather shoes 
from the cushions of the seat on which, 
contrary to the regulations, they were 
resting, as an elderly gentleman climbed 
into our carriage. Our fellow-passenger 
was a stout, middle-aged individual, 
wearing a long black frock-coat, shep- 
herd’s plaid trousers and a grey waistcoat. 
Across the broad expanse of the lastnam- 
ed garment a heavy length of thick gold 


LORD BELLINGER 


watch-chain sought in vain to restrain the 
ripe contours of his ample figure. He 
looked quickly across at us as he entered, 
attracted no doubt by the peculiarities of 
our attire, and then gazed long and in- 
tently at me, as though my appear- 
ance had struck some chord in his 
memory. 

“I hope, sir, you have no objection to 
my smoking a cigar,” he said, bowing 
with an oldfashioned courtesy in my di- 
rection. 

“None at all,” I replied, “I should like 
it.” 

“So should I,” added Hazelton ubiquit- 
ously. 

“Very hot weather we are having,” our 
companion pursued, turning to the last 
speaker. 

“Very,” answered Hazelton. “The 
closer you get to London the closer it 
gets.” 

“I hope you will forgive my imperti- 
nence,” said the other, subjecting me to a 
further scrutiny; “I did not at once recog- 
nise you. Now that I see who you are I 


170 


THE FIRE 


should like to take this opportunity of 
thanking you for the many hearty laughs 
you have so often given me in the past.” 

I remained silent. I could not remem- 
ber ever having seen this old gentleman 
before, far less could I recollect any oc- 
casion on which I had made him laugh 
heartily. I shot an enquiring glance at 
Hazelton, who merely tapped his fore- 
head with his finger, delicately hinting 
that our fellow-traveller was a harmless 
lunatic. 

“Bats in the belfry!” he said in an un- 
dertone. “Off his trolley! Balmy on the 
crumpet! We must humour him.” 

“Many a time have you puzzled me 
with your card tricks,” continued the old 
gentleman with much urbanity. 

“Indeed?” I answered rather coldly, 
while Hazelton could scarcely conceal a 
smile. 

“Yes. I have a little boy at home who 
thinks the whole world of you. I took him 
to London on purpose to see you last 
Christmas, and he’s been practising your 
sleight-of-hand ever since.” 


LORD BELLINGER 


‘‘Card tricks? Sleight-of-hand?” I re- 
peated, thinking that the conversation ap- 
peared to be taking an unpleasant turn. 
“There must be some mistake, I fail to 
understand.” 

“Excuse me,” replied the other. “Am I 
not addressing Lieutenant King, the 
worldfamed ventriloquist and conjuror? 
Surely I cannot be mistaken. I have seen 
you so often at the Palace Theatre, and 
once, I remember, at a children’s party 
given by Lady Jennings in Berkeley 
Square. I shall never forget how I roared 
at your farmyard imitations. When you 
brought that bowl of goldfish out of the 
Admiral’s pocket I thought I should have 
died, he looked so surprised. Your imi- 
tation of a dog being run over by a motor 
is, if I may be allowed to say so, quite ad- 
mirable. As for the way you mimic the 
opening of a soda-water bottle — perfect, 
my dear sir, perfect! How you can think 
of all those amusing things, I’m sure I 
don’t know.” 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I re- 
plied, not I hope impolitely, “but I’m 


172 


THE FIRE 


afraid you are labouring under a grave 
misapprehension. I couldn’t produce a 
bowl of goldfish out of an admiral’s 
pocket, not for a thousand pounds. If 
you were to lend me your watch and a 
couple of eggs in the hope that I should 
make an omelet in your opera-hat, you’d 
be terribly disappointed at the result. 
I’m no conjuror, I’m sorry to say. I’ve 
often longed to be able to juggle, but I 
can’t do it without breaking the crockery. 
I’m ashamed to have to admit it, but I’m 
just a plain man who never gave an imita- 
tion of a soda-water bottle in the whole 
course of my life.” 

“I’m sure I beg ten thousand pardons,” 
said our companion, with some confusion. 
“You must think me very rude. I fancied 
that I recognised Lieutenant King. I 
imagined from your — if I may say so — 
rather unusual attire that you were prob- 
ably on your way to attend a children’s 
party. I thought this — er — gentleman” 
— he glanced at Hazelton — “was your as- 
sistant. I hope you will forgive my stu- 
pidity.” 


173 


LORD BELLINGER 


‘Tray don’t mention it,” I replied. 
“There’s no reason for apologising, Mr. 
— er — er — ” 

“Warlingham’s my name — Lord War- 
lingham.” 

“I’m delighted to have the pleasure of 
making your acquaintance,” I answered. 
“I have so often heard my father Lord 
Bellinger speak of you.” 

“So you’re Bellinger’s boy, are you?” 
said Lord Warlingham. “Your father 
and I are old friends. I can’t apologise 
enough for my idiotic mistake. I should 
have seen at once that you were no con- 
juror.” 

“I’m sure I look more like a waiter 
than anything else in these clothes,” I as- 
sured him, as I proceeded to give a brief 
account of our recent adventures, at the 
end of which I took the opportunity of 
introducing Hazelton. Lord Warling- 
ham was still much upset, and continued 
to apologise profusely. 

“It is dreadful of me to have taken you 
for a conjuror’s assistant,” he declared. 

“Not at all,” said Hazelton. “I only 


174 


THE FIRE 


wish I were in any way connected with so 
hardworking a profession. The nearest I 
can get to it is that a cousin of mine knows 
the man who writes the music for the 
Performing Dogs at the Hippodrome.” 

‘Tndeed?” 

“Yes. Very difficult music to compose, 
so I’m told. Just a little more classical 
than the tunes for acrobats, but not quite 
so good as the cinematograph composi- 
tions.” 

By this time we had reached Charing 
Cross station, and after further mutual 
protestations of friendship, Hazelton and 
I bade farewell to our new friend and 
proceeded to our several destinations. 

This adventure, though slight in itself, 
was destined to have far-reaching conse- 
quences. Indeed, it would not be untrue 
to say that upon it to some extent depend- 
ed not only my own future fate, but also 
that of the whole race of Bellingers. 


175 


CHAPTER VII. 


TWO CAMPAIGNS. 

The next event of any real importance 
in my life was the South African War. 
As, however, so many books have been 
written upon the subject, and the cam- 
paign itself has by this time become noth- 
ing more than a painful memory to most 
of us, I propose to deal as briefly as pos- 
sible with my own connection with it. 

My father, as is well known, was one 
of the first as well as one of the greatest 
Imperialists of his time. If he were 
alive to-day he would most certainly be in 
favour of Tariff Reform and Colonial 
Preference; he would insist that British 
taxes should all be paid by the foreigner. 
As it is, he was fated to live in an age 
when Free Trade was still the national 
policy beneath which England struggled 
and, I must admit, prospered. 

When the war broke out my father had 
long ceased to take any active part in 
176 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


politics, but his interest in the affairs of 
the nation was as keen as ever; advancing 
years had not in any way diminished his 
enthusiasm for Imperial concerns. Lord 
Bellinger was no armchair critic; his loy- 
alty was not merely confined to lip-ser- 
vice. On one occasion, indeed, while 
travelling upon the Underground Rail- 
way, he went so far as to assault an old 
gentleman who happened to remark that 
upon some portion of the British Empire 
the sun was always setting — a statement 
which my father rightly considered to be 
unpatriotic, if not actually disloyal. Lat- 
er on, on Maf eking Night, he distinguish- 
ed himself by utterly ruining two silk hats 
and losing his watch and chain, in an 
attempt to join wholeheartedly in the 
glorious scenes of public thanksgiving in 
which Londoners took so active a part. 
Again, although his doctor had forbidden 
him to expose himself to the night air, he 
insisted upon being present in a box at a 
West End music hall when a wellknown 
actress recited a patriotic poem in which 
Britain was urged to contribute to a fund 


177 


LORD BELLINGER 


on behalf of the relatives of those heroes, 
whether the offspring of dukes or cooks, 
who were fighting their country’s battles 
on the veldt. When a shower of copper 
bullion rained upon the stage at the con- 
clusion of this performance, Lord Bel- 
linger was so carried away by emotion 
that he not only emptied his pockets of 
all his loose pennies, but even added to 
this generous financial bombardment an 
expensive gold matchbox. This caused 
some confusion by striking the Chef d’or- 
chestre on the head and afterwards ex- 
ploding among the bassoons. 

My regiment was ordered to the front 
at the very commencement of hostilities, 
and it was with a joyful heart that Hazel- 
ton and I hastened to our tailors in Con- 
duit Street to order the new uniforms in 
which it was to be our privilege to de- 
fend our country. My father was almost 
as pleased as I was to think that at last 
I should have an opportunity of proving 
my worth in an arena wider than that 
afforded by the barrack-square. He look- 
ed forward with pride to welcoming me 
178 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


home in three months’ time, when we 
should have taught our presumptuous 
foes the lesson they so badly needed. My 
mother, on the other hand, after the man- 
ner of her sex, was inclined to be pessi- 
mistic and fearful of consequences. She 
could not bear to think that I was expos- 
ing myself to danger, and, with a view to 
minimising the risk as much as possible, 
managed through her influence with the 
authorities at the War Office to obtain 
employment for me on the staff of that 
famous British officer. Colonel — after- 
wards General Sir Claud — Garvell. 

General Garvell (as he soon became), 
a man of whom all his fellow-countrymen 
spoke in terms of the most eloquent eu- 
logy, before he landed at Capetown, was 
a soldier of the oldf ashioned type. It was 
ever his implicit belief that Providence 
fought on the side of the best-fed battal- 
ions, and the talent he displayed in the 
management of commissariat almost 
amounted to genius. The troops under 
his command, as he often observed with 
very pardonable pride, never suffered 


179 


LORD BELLINGER 


from hunger or thirst. Such mobility as 
they may have lacked was amply compen- 
sated for by the presence of that well- 
equipped canteen with which, by his ex- 
press orders, each corps was invariably 
provided. He was consequently one of 
the most popular officers in the British 
Army, and the rank and file would have 
followed him anywhere, confident that, 
whatever else might happen, the trans- 
port waggons containing the day’s rations 
would never be left behind. 

At the famous battle of Sluitfontein, 
however, he had the misfortune to make 
a slight strategical error which cost him 
the loss of a brigade of infantry and eight 
guns, and was the subject of one of those 
masterly despatches (afterwards publish- 
ed in book form) which usually began 
with the words “1 regret to report.”* 

General Garvell was immediately pro- 
moted to a high position of trust at Stel- 
lenstein, where his talents for organisa- 
tion found full scope and gained him the 

♦Prom Capetown to Stellensteln ; the Record of a Three Months' 
Trek, by Major General Sir ClaudGravell, K.C.V.O., C.B., D.S.O. 
(Drake & Jessop, London Price 30/- net. 

i8o 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


respect and devotion of either member 
of that Military Staff which he there 
controlled so ably. This would not per- 
haps be an inopportune moment to give 
an example of my chief’s scrupulous con- 
scientiousness in the exercise of his duty. 
I therefore take the liberty of quoting, by 
permission, the letter he wrote to the of- 
ficer Commanding the District, on the as- 
sumption of his new post at Stellenstein. 
It is, I think, not only expressive of the 
man himself, but also typical of the work- 
ings of a certain very prevalent type of 
military mind. 

“From the Commandant, Stellen- 
stein, 

To the G.O.C. Western District. 
Sir: 

Sept. 24 th As I have already had the hon- 
our to report by telegraph (K. 
348) , I have this day taken over the 
duties of my command, as per mar- 
gin, as per your letter 17/7/00. 
Prior to my arrival here the con- 
181 


LORD BELLINGER 


dition of things appears to have 
been far from satisfactory. I 
found that no regular system of 
routine had been established, and 
that neither ^^Reveille” nor “Re- 
treat’’ were sounded at the hours 
laid down in the Regulations. 

The working of the railway here 
is most casual. On my suggesting 
to the Railway Staff Officer that 
trains could be run at five-minute 
intervals, as they are upon the Dis- 
trict Railway at home, and trans- 
port thereby much accelerated, he 
appeared to be amused, and made 
some irrelevant remark to the ef- 
fect that he had worked on the 
Soudan Railway for three years. I 
am at a loss to understand how dis- 
cipline, the bedrock of military ef- 
ficiency, is to be preserved if junior 
officers adopt such an attitude to- 
wards their superiors, merely on 
the grounds of a certain purely 
technical knowledge of locomo- 
tives and luggage-trains. As Na- 
poleon observed: “The Man is 
everything; men” — and he would 
now no doubt have added “and 
trains” — “are nothing.” 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


On my arrival I at once pro- 
ceeded to the railway depot, where 
I observed a passenger-train stand- 
ing stationary beside the departure 
platform. I sent for the Railway 
Staff Officer, whom I found to be 
No spurs, improperly dressed, as per margin. 
Dress Reg- ^ ^sfced him why he was not wear- 
S?ra.°69. spurs, in accordance with the 
regulations, and he answered most 
impertinently that the engines were 
not particularly restive this morn- 
ing. I reprimanded him severely, 
warning him that I should most 
certainly have placed him under 
arrest, in accordance with Section 
5, Sub. section 3 of the Army Act, 
but for the fact that he was not 
wearing a sword, and that since I 
could not therefore deprive him of 
that weapon, nobody would know 
whether he were under arrest or 
not. Also because in his absence 
there would be no one able to con- 
trol the working of the railway. 

I enquired further of the Rail- 
way Staff Officer as to why the 
train standing in the station was 
not immediately despatched, with- 
out more waste of time, upon its 
183 


LORD BELLINGER 


journey. He replied that the line 
was not clear. All I can say is that 
he took no steps to clear it. 

I have the honour to be, 
Sir, 

Your obedient servant, 

Claud Garvell, Gen. ; 

Commdt., Stellenstein.” 

I shared the honourable exile — if it 
may be so called — of my chief, but soon 
found the peaceful Stellenstein existence 
even more monotonous than my former 
life ‘^on trek.” 

My duties as aide-de-camp had never 
been very responsible or arduous, con- 
sisting for the most part in keeping the 
General well supplied with ice and min- 
eral waters, a task of which I had long 
grown weary. Indeed, the only occasion 
on which I felt that I was doing some- 
thing of real use to the Empire was just 
before the battle of Sluitfontein, when 
General Garvell made me the bearer of 
an important despatch which delayed the 
184 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


advance of the troops for several hours. 
This communication took the form of a 
stinging memorandum, addressed to the 
officer commanding the Queen’s Own 
Border Fusiliers, in which the General 
pointed out that several of the noncom- 
missioned officers of that famous regi- 
ment had omitted to polish the buttons of 
their tunics before going into action, and 
called attention to the unsoldierly manner 
in which the men’s boots were in many 
instances fastened with string, instead of 
with the porpoise-hide boot-laces laid 
down by regulation. The reply which I 
brought back to my chief from the Com- 
manding Officer of the Fusiliers was very 
rightly returned unread, being improper- 
ly written on white (instead of blue) pa- 
per, and, moreover, lacking that two-inch 
margin without which no military docu- 
ment is acceptable to those in authority. 

I confess that I had soon tired of my 
position on the General Staff, and was 
anxiously seeking an opportunity for es- 
cape, when Providence thoughtfully sup- 
plied me with the necessary excuse. Two 


185 


LORD BELLINGER 


years before the close of the war, there- 
fore, when General Garvell was inva- 
lided home with an enlarged liver, I was 
fortunate in being the victim of a slight 
attack of malaria which supplied me with 
a suitable reason for accompanying my 
chief to England. 

I attended the great function at Dover 
at which the General was presented by 
the Mayor with a “sword of honour” and 
an illuminated address, and shared in his 
triumphal entry into London. A year 
later I stood in the window of the flat in 
the Edgware Road, where my chief re- 
sided with his mother, when the entire 
north end of that thoroughfare was dec- 
orated in General Garvell’s honour on 
“Sluitfontein night,” as the anniversary 
was called. I was also present on the fol- 
lowing Sunday afternoon, when Mrs. 
Garvell appeared in a box at the Albert 
Hall and the whole audience rose and 
cheered for several minutes. It was I 
who enjoyed the privilege of supporting 
the tottering form of the dear old lady, 
who had long reached and passed the 


i86 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


grand climacteric, when she acknowl- 
edged this public tribute to her son’s fame 
with becoming modesty, and there were 
tears in my eyes as I sank back into a red 
plush seat and prepared to listen to the 
unique concert at which Madame Patti 
was bidding farewell to the public for the 
twenty-seventh time. 

In due course General Garvell received 
the knighthood which he so thoroughly 
deserved, and at the same time the ser- 
vices of his humble aide-de-camp were 
not left unrewarded by a grateful coun- 
try. In one of the earliest Gazettes I 
found myself decorated for ^^distinguish- 
ed service in the field,” and the South 
African medal (with one clasp) and the 
Jubilee Medal already upon my chest 
were supplemented by yet a third. Later 
on, when I earned a Coronation medal, 
and, after a royal function at the Imperial 
Institute, was made a Member of the 
Victorian Order (Fourth Class), my 
breast became absolutely congested witn 
decorations and my cup of happiness was, 
as may be imagined, well-nigh full. 

187 


LORD BELLINGER 


As I look back upon the time spent in 
South Africa I see very clearly what a 
great deal of grossly inaccurate nonsense 
has been written, by poets and other irre- 
sponsible persons, on the subject of War. 
Of pride and pomp and circumstance I 
saw little or nothing during my sojourn 
on the veldt, and I cannot help agreeing 
with my friend Hazelton who pithily de- 
fined active service as “many months of 
extreme boredom, punctuated by occa- 
sional moments of intense fear.” 

From one point of view, however, I 
never had cause to regret the South Afri- 
can War. The hardships of campaigning 
gave me reason to appreciate more fully 
than ever the comforts of civilisation and 
the joys of living at home and in England. 
I had not hitherto been much of a “so- 
ciety man,” preferring to spend my eve- 
nings at Bellinger House with my family, 
or perhaps in a stall at the Gaiety with 
Hazelton. But the warmth of the wel- 
come awaiting the returning soldier 
forced me to take an entirely new view of 
those social functions which form so large 


i88 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


a part of the Londoner’s life, and I grad- 
ually found myself becoming one of the 
most fashionable young men about town* 
My ignorance of the ways of smart so- 
ciety was not, however, without its draw- 
backs, and on two occasions during the 
period of my social debut I was guilty of 
solecisms which I still recall with a shud- 
der. 

One evening, the old Duchess of Dul- 
chester was advertised to give a ball 
which the King and Queen intended hon- 
ouring by their presence. I was duly in- 
vited, and, seeing that the hour given on 
my card was 10.15 (“Small and Late”), 
determined that my first appearance in 
royal circles should not be marred by un- 
punctuality. At twenty minutes past ten 
I accordingly walked up the steps of Dul- 
chester House, crossed the slip of red car- 
pet that proclaimed the presence of Roy- 
alty, and rang the bell. 

I was surprised that the door should 
not be immediately flung open, and won- 
dered if by chance I had come to the 
wrong house. After a brief delay, how- 

189 


LORD BELLINGER 


ever, I was admitted by a panting menial, 
and presently three or four more domes- 
tics hastily appeared upon the scene and 
relieved me of my hat and coat, at the 
same time giving me a ticket bearing the 
number 32. I welcomed this as a sign 
that at least thirty-one men had arrived 
before me, but could not help feeling that 
there was something wrong from the 
more than usually patronising expression 
upon the butler’s face. With some natur- 
al diffidence I politely enquired of this 
personage whether I were not right in 
supposing that the Duchess was giving a 
dance that night. The butler smiled in 
rather a superior manner and answered 
that my surmise was perfectly correct. 
He added, however, that Her Grace was 
also entertaining some sixty guests at din- 
ner, and that the gentlemen had not yet 
left the dining-room. I hastily resumed 
my coat and hat and went for a walk. 
After sauntering twelve times round the 
square until I felt that I had roused the 
worst suspicions in the breast of the po- 
liceman at the corner, I returned to Dul- 
chester House. 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


I was now glad to find a long string of 
carriages at the door disgorging their oc- 
cupants as fast as possible under the pa- 
tient superintendence of an Inspector of 
police. I struggled up the front stairs in 
the midst of a horde of fashionable peo- 
ple, and was just wondering whether I 
should put on my new pair of white 
gloves before or after I had shaken hands 
with my hostess, when the problem was 
solved by my reaching the top of the stairs 
and being informed by a servant that the 
Duchess was at that moment engaged in 
taking part in a Royal quadrille. 

I wormed my way into the ballroom 
and was happily engaged in watching the 
edifying spectacle of a number of elderly 
persons walking solemnly about to music 
holding each other’s hands in a stately 
but rather anxious manner, when I sud- 
denly realised that I was the only person 
present in trousers, all the other men 
being clad in knee-breeches. Alas! I 
had not been warned of the etiquette 
which makes it customary for all loyal 
subjects of the male sex to expose their 


LORD BELLINGER 


calves to the gaze of their Sovereign. 
With a guilty sinking of the heart I stole 
downstairs and made my way home. 

The very next night I had been bidden 
to an evening party (10:30 “French 
Play”) given by the Zeltingers in Port- 
land Place. This time I was determined 
not to arrive too early. I also looked 
carefully through the papers in the morn- 
ing, and in one of them discovered a para- 
graph which distinctly stated that His 
Majesty had expressed his intention of 
attending Lady Zeltinger’s soiree, at 
which a clever troupe of Parisian actors, 
specially imported for the occasion, 
would give a representation of that cele- 
brated farce “Occupe-toi d’Amelie,” fol- 
lowed by a brief revue which the Censor 
had declined to licence elsewhere. 

At eleven o’clock, clad in brand-new 
knee-breeches, I mounted the staircase in 
Portland Place and was ushered into the 
drawing-room. I found a large company 
already assembled there, sitting tightb^- 
packed on small gold chairs listening to 
as much as they could understand (which 


192 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 

was luckily but little) of the French 
play. 

My entrance caused a slight interrup- 
tion, and a few people turned irritably 
round and said “Sh-sh!”, making me feel 
more than ever conscious of the undraped 
condition of my legs. My bashfulness 
was not mitigated by the appalling dis- 
covery that my morning paper had been 
misinformed, and that no member of the 
Royal Family was present. Once more I 
found myself conspicuous, this time 
among a host of trousered fellow-men. 

In an agony of selfconsciousness I made 
my way out of the Zeltingers’ drawing- 
room, and silently crept down the front 
stairs. On my way down I met two 
guests, even more belated than myself, 
who mistook me for the butler (doubt- 
less on account of my legs) and insisted 
on whispering their names into my reluc- 
tant ear. They were much astonished 
when I brusquely declined to “announce” 
them. 

It was a pity that I had to go home be- 
fore the revue came off, for that was un- 


193 


LORD BELLINGER 


doubtedly the clou of the evening’s enter- 
tainment. Indeed, the remarks uttered 
by the heroine, a wellknown artiste from 
the Folies Bergeres, were more than once 
of a nature to cause a ripple to cross that 
sea of phlegmatic British faces which 
composed her audience. It was curious, 
as I was afterwards told, to watch the 
guests gazing anxiously at one another in 
a wild endeavour to find out whether it 
were safe to laugh at jokes which would 
not have been tolerated in English in any 
decent smoking-room. 

Although my existence for the next two 
years may be said to have been nothing 
more nor less than a constant round of 
pleasure and social gaiety, it must not be 
imagined that the serious issues of life 
were altogether neglected or forgotten. 
After the experience of freedom and in- 
terest acquired on active service in South 
Africa, soldiering at home seemed more 
than usually dull and futile. With the 
consent, therefore, of my father, I decided 
to resign my commission in the army and 
seek for fame in that wider political 


194 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


sphere in which his influence was still to 
be felt. 

With this laudable end in view, I ap- 
proached the official agents of that politi- 
cal party with which I was least in dis- 
agreement, and was fortunate enough to 
obtain permission to contest the old 
Northamptonshire division of Slasham 
which had long been considered a strong- 
hold of the Conservative party. 

This safe Tory seat, as it was then con- 
sidered, had become vacant on the death 
of that staunch old British squire Sir Isaac 
Goldman. Sir Isaac had spent many 
thousands upon the constituency, and his 
wellknown opposition to anything in the 
nature of ^‘grandmotherly legislation” 
ensured for his posters a prominent posi- 
tion in the windows of every public-house 
in Slasham. 

In my efforts to continue the good work 
so ably initiated by my predecessor, I 
spared neither myself nor my father’s 
purse. There was not a slate club nor a 
Christmas goose-fund within a radius of 
ten miles of Slasham to which I did not 


195 


LORD BELLINGER 


contribute liberally. I even attended the 
local football matches, at one of which I 
was goodnatured enough to allow myself 
to be persuaded to “kick off.” On this 
occasion I unfortunately missed the ball 
altogether, and suddenly became the cen- 
tre of a dense scrum of human beings 
from which I only managed to extricate 
myself at the cost of a ruined hat and 
some considerable loss of dignity. 

At the annual Farmers’ Dinner I 
made a great point of “taking the chair.” 
I had been told that the favourite song 
of the late Member was a patriotic ditty 
entitled “Soldiers of the Queen,” the 
chorus of which Sir Isaac Goldman ren- 
dered, in a voice choked by Imperialistic 
sentiments and old port, somewhat as fol- 
lows: 

“Zey’re zoldiers off der Qveen, mein poys, 
’Oo’ve zeen, mein poys, 

’Oo’ve peen, mein poys,” etc. 

Following so worthy a precedent, I had 
lessons from a wellknown professor of 
singing, who taught me to breathe with 
that part of my anatomy which I had 
196 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


hitherto used solely for purposes of di- 
gestion. I was thus enabled to sing ‘^Boys 
of the Bulldog Breed!” and other na- 
tional ballads in a manner which gave 
universal satisfaction. Indeed, one old 
farmer, who had lost all his teeth — a fact 
which added to the difficulties of verbal 
intercourse, since, as Hazel ton remarked, 
one might as well have attempted to con- 
verse with a pair of muffled nut-crackers 
— declared that he had inhabited the par- 
ish of Slasham for ninety years, man and 
boy, come Michaelmas, but had never 
heard anything to compare with my sing- 
ing. Such a testimonial was well worth 
having, the memory of this critic carry- 
ing him easily back to the date of Queen 
Victoria’s coronation, an occasion which 
was fitly celebrated in loyal Slasham by 
the oiling and repairing of the village 
pump. 

My electioneering campaign proved a 
lengthy and arduous undertaking, and, I 
regret to say, ended disastrously both for 
myself and my party. I was, of course, a 
political tiro, and had little or no experi- 


197 


LORD BELLINGER 

ence of platform oratory. When, for in- 
stance, at my first meeting, an illmanner- 
ed person heckled me as to my views upon 
the Education question, I could only 
reply that I myself had been educated at 
Eton and that I thought this a good 
enough education for anybody. This 
answer did not seem to satisfy my interro- 
gator, nor indeed any member of my au- 
dience. My opponent, on the other hand, 
whose name was Ezra Huish, was a dis- 
senting lawyer with a large practice at 
the bar and a gift of eloquence which en- 
abled him to speak with fluency upon any 
subject at a moment’s notice. It ill befits 
me to say anything derogatory of a politi- 
cal adversary, but I am not divulging a 
secret when I state that Mr. Huish had 
no pretensions to being a gentleman. He 
was, I am ashamed to state, the son of a 
cash chemist who lived at Northampton. 
I give him credit for the fact that he 
made no attempt to conceal the truth 
about his birth. It is therefore all the 
more remarkable that this fact should not 
have prejudiced him more than it did in 
198 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


the eyes of those of his constituents who, 
like myself, desired that the destinies of 
Empire should be controlled exclusively 
by gentlemen. I am not in any way big- 
oted, and I know that a man cannot be 
held responsible for the accident of his 
birth. I realise, too, that many great busi- 
nesses, railways, banks and other commer- 
cial concerns have on occasion been suc- 
cessfully managed by men who sprang 
from the people. But I feel sure that I 
am only voicing the unanimous opinion 
of my class when I say that it is essential 
for the maintenance of the Constitution 
that the affairs of Empire should be con- 
ducted by gentlemen who are prepared to 
consider the questions of the day with 
open minds, unbiassed by any kind of 
commercial or business experience what- 
soever. 

I endeavoured to carry on my campaign 
in an upright and straightforward man- 
ner, thereby disappointing many of the 
humbler electors who had been accustom- 
ed to the somewhat hazardous financial 
methods of Sir Isaac Goldman. My op- 


199 


LORD BELLINGER 


ponent, however, though luckily not rich 
enough to resort to actual bribery, adopt- 
ed a more dubious course. Indeed, he did 
not hesitate to flatter the ignorant elec- 
tors with promises of Old Age Pensions, 
Small Holdings, schemes for the Better 
Housing of the Poor and other social re- 
forms of those various impractical kinds 
which only Radical governments attempt 
to impose upon the inhabitants of a free 
country. 

Mr. Huish was what we should nowa- 
days term a Socialist; that is to say he 
thought it an anomaly that a small sec- 
tion of the population of England should 
be living in luxury and plenty while mil- 
lions of their poorer brethren starved in 
the slums. Such views seem, of course, 
ridiculous to men of birth and wealth 
who have studied the rudiments of politi- 
cal economy and realise how greatly to 
the people’s advantage is the existence of 
multi-millionaires. But to the poor and 
uneducated arguments of a revolutionary 
kind must ever appeal, and I have no 
doubt that a large number of the unem- 


200 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


ployed artisans of Slasham, who were 
always on the verge of starvation, were 
tempted by the inflammatory speeches of 
my opponent to grudge the splendour in 
which most of their wealthier neighbours 
dwelt. 

Mr. Ezra Huish pandered to the low- 
est passions of the mob. He aired his 
socialistic opinions freely at the expense 
of the aristocracy, accusing them not only 
of indolence but even of intellectual in- 
competence. (How misinformed was 
my opponent I pointed out in a letter to 
the Tylesworth Herald in which I pub- 
lished a list of the peers and other titled 
personages who figured with prominence 
upon the prospectuses of various City 
Companies. Many of these men, though 
quite unknown to the general public or 
even to their fellows in the House of 
Lords, were nevertheless doing their 
work silently and laboriously at monthly 
Board Meetings, earning their guineas 
and the respect of all those financiers who 
had induced them to lend their names 
and talents to the promotion of those 


201 


LORD BELLINGER 


great business concerns upon whose di- 
rectorate they sat.) Not only, as I say, 
did Mr. Huish level the most gross per- 
sonal attacks against myself and my fam- 
ily and class, but in his passion to display 
me as unworthy to represent the electors 
of Slasham, he even made use of weapons 
which I can only describe as dishonour- 
able and un-English. Not content with 
raking up the old Saltingborough Scan- 
dal of which my poor father had been the 
innocent victim, he descended so low in 
his campaign of bitterness and vitupera- 
tion as to recount upon a public platform 
one of the few unfortunate incidents of 
my own otherwise blameless past — an in- 
cident which all decentminded persons 
had long forgotten. The facts of the case 
were as follows : Soon after I entered the 
army I was unlucky enough to become 
entangled with a young person who, al- 
though (as she assured me) the daughter 
of a country clergyman, added to her par- 
ent’s precarious income by earning a 
small salary in the second row of the 
chorus of a Musical Comedy. To cut a 


202 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


long story short, my dear father eventu- 
ally paid this lady a large sum of money 
to stay those proceedings for Breach of 
Promise by which I was threatened, and 
I was thus not compelled to contract the 
unsuitable matrimonial alliance which at 
one time seemed to be the only honour- 
able solution of the difficulty. An acci- 
dent of this sort may happen to any young 
man who is by nature warmhearted and 
sentimental, and my friends in society 
never, I am sure, thought any the worse 
of me on that account. But at Slasham, 
where views upon morality were provin- 
cial and bigoted, the exaggerated reports 
of my early romance caused me the loss of 
a large number of votes, not only among 
the Nonconformists, which I should not 
have minded so much, but actually among 
voters of my own religious persuasion. 
This naturally helped to turn the scale in 
the favour of my opponent and added to 
the difficulties of my campaign. 

When I started out upon a parliament- 
ary career I confess that my knowledge of 
political questions was somewhat vague. 


203 


LORD BELLINGER 


I had of course been brought up in a de- 
cent Conservative household, and was 
aware that the Conservative party enjoy- 
ed a monopoly of patriotism, of religion, 
of morality and good taste. I knew too 
that Radicals were mostly individuals of 
a kind that one was never likely to meet 
in society — second-class persons, working 
men, even dissenters — whom one pities 
rather than despises. I had been taught 
during the South African War that a vote 
given to any Liberal Candidate meant a 
vote given to the Boers, but I had not 
yet discovered — what we have all learnt 
to-day — that a vote given to the Radicals 
is a vote given to the German Emperor. 
The Liberals were not then, as of course 
they now are, actively in league with Ger- 
many, and anxious to hand themselves 
and the Empire over to the Kaiser. 

I had never been able to devote much 
time to the study of Imperial concerns, 
being generally too busy to attend to any 
but my own private affairs, though from 
time to time I had glanced at the brief 
daily summary of parliamentary proceed- 


204 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


ings furnished by the halfpenny papers. 
My grandfather and father before me had 
both been Conservatives, and I rightly 
felt that whatever satisfied them was more 
than good enough for me. Lord Belling- 
er was a particularly staunch partisan. I 
remember once, in my youth, praising in 
his presence a man named Williams 
whom I had met casually at a London 
dinner party. In conversation, appear- 
ance and manner, Williams seemed to me 
a most charming and intellectual person, 
and I told my father that I hoped to make 
his closer acquaintance. 

“Williams?” replied my father. “Wil- 
liams? Isn’t he that Radical fellow?” 

His voice trembled with very natural 
scorn and indignation, and I could only 
hang my head in silence at the reproof im- 
plied by his tone. I borrowed a copy of 
“Who’s Who,” later on, and discovered 
that my father had been right: the man 
was a Radical. I blush even now with 
shame to think how nearly I came to 
being led by a plausible manner in- 
to believing Williams to have been a 


205 


LORD BELLINGER 


gentleman. It was an unpardonable mis- 
take, but one that I have never repeated. 
A little care should always enable one to 
tell a man’s politics by his appearance. 
Since I studied the question I have no- 
ticed that Conservatives adopt an air of 
honest, easy, complacent self-assurance 
which, combined with wellfitting clothes, 
may be said to be the mark of the true 
gentleman. Radicals, on the other hand, 
do not seem to care how badly they dress 
— I have actually seen one at a theatre in 
evening clothes and a black tie! — and 
though occasionally some of them pa- 
tronise decent tailors and thereby pose as 
being better than they are, the cloven hoof 
and the hairy heel are generally visible, 
and I at any rate am never taken in by 
their pseudo-gentility. 

Once or twice foreigners or other ig- 
norant persons have enquired of me 
whether I were a Conservative or a Lib- 
eral. My answer has invariably been the 
same. ^‘Sir,” I have said, “I am an Eng- 
lish gentleman who has the welfare of his 
country at heart. I do not desire to wit- 


206 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


ness the upheaval of the Constitution, the 
downfall of the Throne, the ruin of Eng- 
land’s industries, the disbanding of her 
army, the breakup of her Poor Law. I 
am, in my humble way, a patriot. I leave 
it to you to conjecture what my politics 
must be.” In nine cases out of ten my 
interrogator has guessed correctly that I 
am a Conservative, content to live up to 
the family traditions and if possible plant 
my steps in the footprints which my fath- 
er has marked so deeply in the sands of 
the parliamentary seashore. 

At the time of which I write the great 
Fiscal controversy was in its infancy, and 
although my great-grandfather had been 
a Lancashire man and a Free Trader, my 
father, as I have already stated, became 
converted to Tariff Reform in his dotage, 
and was never tired of clamouring for a 
high protective duty upon everything ex- 
cept hops. My mother, on the other 
hand, who frequently disagreed with her 
husband upon minor matters, was a dis- 
ciple of Richard Cobden. I remember 
her assuring me with tears in her eyes 


207 


LORD BELLINGER 


that it was infinitely preferable that, un- 
der Free Trade, food should be cheap 
and the working man have no money 
wherewith to buy it, than that he should 
possess wages with which, under Protec- 
tion, it would be impossible for him to 
purchase expensive food. 

I considered the question carefully for 
nearly a whole week and finally came to 
the conclusion that I should be acting not 
only wisely but also in accordance with 
my principles if I followed the example 
of my father and advocated the cause of 
Protection. I had always shared my par- 
ent’s hatred of taxation. I agreed and 
still agree with those famous words of his 
which occur in the celebrated speech he 
delivered at Basingstoke more than half 
a century ago: “All taxes are bad,” he 
said, “but if they must be paid at all, it 
seems to me to be imperative, nay essen- 
tial, that they should be paid by the for- 
eigner and not by Englishmen!” 

A great many solutions of the Fiscal 
Question have been suggested at different 
times. To me the whole affair seems sim- 


208 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


pie in the extreme. My idea has always 
been to erect round the coasts of Great 
Britain a tariff wall high enough to keep 
out all foreign commercial rivals — thus 
providing Britons with more employ- 
ment and higher wages — and yet not so 
high as to prevent the entry of sufficient 
imports to give the country the necessary 
revenue and thus relieve the native of the 
burden of taxation. This sounds a rea- 
sonable plan, I should have thought, and 
yet I have found the greatest difficulty in 
impressing its beauties and benefits upon 
my Free Trade constituents. 

As though to confirm my own Protec- 
tionist views and assist me in the prosecu- 
tion of my political campaign, an admir- 
able example of the disadvantages attend- 
ant upon Free Trade arose within the 
very limits of my Northamptonshire con- 
stituency. I need hardly say that I lost 
no opportunity of making good use of 
this in my election speeches. 

Two miles from the town of Slasham 
stands the huge Reformatory for Youth- 
ful Criminals known as the Swableigh 


209 


LORD BELLINGER 


Institute. Here some five or six hundred 
boys and youths, convicted of theft, arson, 
petty larceny or incorrigible truancy, are 
trained to become decent citizens, sol- 
diers, sailors, and even (in four cases) 
members of Parliament. That the educa- 
tion they receive is all that can be desired 
may be gathered from the fact that 
among “old Swableigh boys” may be 
numbered no less than two peers and fif- 
teen Company Promoters, one of whom 
has recently attained the dignity of a 
Privy Councillor. 

For many years the Swableigh Insti- 
tute was famous for the manufacture of 
tables and chairs, and, as a result of this 
industry, the Reformatory was a thriving 
concern, paying over six per cent, to the 
shareholders. A short time before my 
campaign at Slasham, however, the sud- 
den importation of machine-made furni- 
ture from Norway gave rise to such keen 
competition that Swableigh was com- 
pelled to cut its prices and eventually to 
capitulate before the local furniture 
dealers. For some reason or other, which 


210 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


I have never been able to discover, the 
Norwegian merchant was able to manu- 
facture rough machine-made sections of 
chairs and tables and place them upon 
the English market at a price lower than 
the actual cost of the Englishman’s raw 
materials. The result was, of course, 
fatal to British trade. The working 
classes of this country, whose sense of 
patriotism is but latent, if it exists at all, 
declined to emulate the methods of their 
foreign confreres by accepting smaller 
wages and living largely upon horseflesh, 
— which, though perhaps an unpleasant 
form of food, is by no means uneatable — 
and black bread which (as I gather from 
a Conservative newspaper) is considered 
a luxury by members of our Royal fam- 
ily — nor were they willing to pay more 
than was absolutely necessary for any 
article. They consequently bought noth- 
ing but cheap chairs and tables made by 
the English dealers from the rough-shap- 
ed Norwegian sections, and the once 
thriving industry of Swableigh waned 
and finally expired altogether. 


2II 


LORD BELLINGER 


It used to make me very sad, when I 
went over the Reformatory on the occa- 
sion of the annual Visitors’ Inspection — I 
was one of the original Directors of the 
concern — to see that crowd of healthy 
happy little criminals drilling on the par- 
ade-ground or playing in the recreation 
field, and realise that, but for the fatuous 
and burdensome policy of Free Trade un- 
der which we groan and suffer, each one 
of those six hundred lads might easily 
have been provided with at least two 
hours more work a day. It was indeed 
shocking to contemplate the amount of 
time wasted upon physical drill or hockey 
which might otherwise have been de- 
voted to honest industry of the kind which 
would provide the shareholders with a 
satisfactory dividend. 

When, however, I tried to point out the 
grievous injustice of all this to my elec- 
tors I was chilled by their total lack of 
sympathy. Though I explained at some 
length how, by putting a thumping tax on 
Norwegian imports, the Swableigh Insti- 
tute would once more become a humming 


212 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


hive of industry, supplying its directors 
with a suitable salary, instead of being, as 
it now is, a mere training-ground and 
school, my constituents listened to my ap- 
peal respectfully but without apparent 
emotion. It was not until the election had 
been fought and lost that I discovered the 
cause of their apathy. It was then too 
late to feel anything but acute disap- 
pointment in my countrymen. 

The selfishness of the labouring man — 
of which I have already had occasion to 
complain — is only one degree less lament- 
able than that fatal disinclination for 
work which he perpetually evinces. I 
have sometimes stood for more than an 
hour at a stretch at my library window 
watching the gardeners at work, and won- 
dering why great strong men were not 
ashamed to spend the precious time so 
unprofitably. The leisurely way in 
which they plant bulbs or tickle the paths 
with a rake makes me despair for the fu- 
ture of England. I believe the working 
man would sooner do nothing at all than 
dig in a flower bed or cart manure. He 


213 


LORD BELLINGER 


has no conception of the dignity of la- 
bour; he takes no interest in work for 
work’s sake. It is not only in the country 
that we find this apathy. Even in London 
I remember, when the road was being re- 
paved outside Bellinger House, I used to 
be amazed at the laziness of the workmen 
— I could see them from my room as I 
breakfasted in bed — and I even wrote to 
the County Council to complain, but with- 
out much result. 

The selfishness of the working man — to 
repeat myself — who prefers to buy his 
goods in the cheapest market rather than 
benefit the Empire by living less well and 
more expensively, is symptomatic not 
only of the lower classes but also, I re- 
gret to say, of the lower middle-class. 
Slasham has always been the centre of a 
large section of the furniture trade, each 
dealer in the town employing a great 
many hands in the conduct of his business. 
At one time, when the Swableigh Insti- 
tute was at the zenith of its fame, these 
dealers found themselves unable to com- 
pete with the output of the Reformatory, 


214 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


where labour was, of course, exceptional- 
ly cheap. Their profits had accordingly 
showed signs of diminution, if not of 
complete disappearance, when the first 
cargo of Norwegian woodwork reached 
these shores. The advent of the foreign- 
er’s material caused a startling and unex- 
pected change. The Slasham dealers 
were now able to import the half-made 
articles for themselves — in some cases 
making a few unimportant alterations or 
additions, so as to render them more suit- 
able for home consumption — and after as- 
sembling the various pieces, retail the 
furniture at an enhanced price to the sim- 
ple countryfolk of England. In this way 
they were able to compete as middlemen 
with the Reformatory and make a sub- 
stantial profit. 

The lack of public spirit shown in such 
a transaction is almost unbelievable. I 
should not myself have given the most 
bankrupt dealer credit for such a display 
of unpatriotism, had I not been supplied 
with ample evidence to prove the truth 
of my assertions. After this it was but a 


215 


LORD BELLINGER 


mild shock to hear the small farmer de- 
clare that he could see no possible advant- 
age to himself in any policy of Colonial 
Preference. If the vote of the elector is 
to depend upon personal or financial con- 
siderations, the future outlook of Eng- 
land is indeed a gloomy one and the dis- 
ruption of the Empire cannot long be 
deferred. 

The Slasham by-election came to a 
close on a Friday evening in June. Ow- 
ing partly to the fact that Mr. Huish had 
been nursing the constituency for years, 
and partly, as I have explained, to the ex- 
traordinary wrongheadedness of the elec- 
tors, the poll resulted in a majority of 
over 1,200 votes in favour of my oppo- 
nent. As the seat had been held by Con- 
servatives ever since 1832, this was a se- 
vere blow both to my pride and to the 
cause for which I laboured. To say that 
I suffered disappointment would be to 
express in too mild terms the exact state 
of my feelings. After the way I had lav- 
ished time and money upon the electors of 
Slasham, the small measure of support 


216 


TWO CAMPAIGNS 


afforded to me was little short of a per- 
sonal affront. I have, however, long 
ceased to expect gratitude from the lower 
classes, and if they preferred to be repre- 
sented in Parliament by a man who, how- 
ever able, was the son of a cash chemist, 
it was no business of mine to question 
their right of selection, though I might 
and did doubt the wisdom of their choice. 

I did not, however, allow myself to be 
too greatly overwhelmed by my defeat. 
I determined to look only upon the bright 
side, and put away all despairing thoughts 
as to the pigheadedness of the electors. 
Hazelton cheered me up a good deal by 
his sympathy and counsel. ^Tet the silly 
beggars stew in their own juice!” he ob- 
served very wisely on the evening of the 
declaration of the poll. 

This political defeat, coming as it did 
at a critical moment in the life of my 
party, evoked an outburst of offensive tri- 
umph in the Radical Press, and proved 
a severe shock to the Conservative lead- 
ers. One of them, indeed, was so tactless 
as to show his petty irritation by cutting 


217 


LORD BELLINGER 


me in St. James’s Street on the day fol- 
lowing the by-election. The fact that all 
Conservatives were not so narrowminded 
as to attribute my defeat to personal 
causes was shortly made clear by my elec- 
tion to the Carlton Club, and, sore though 
I was at my failure, it was pleasant to 
realise that I was not to be held entirely 
responsible for the turning tide of Radi- 
calism which was so soon to swamp and 
demoralise the country. 


2x8 


CHAPTER VIII. 


FOREIGN TRAVEL. 

The electoral campaign proved, as 
might have been expected, a severe strain 
upon my constitution, and it was some 
time before I recovered my usual spirits. 
The family doctor whom I prudently 
consulted prescribed complete rest and 
change, and suggested that a sea voyage 
(combined with a strong tonic) might set 
me on my legs again. Acting on this ad- 
vice I decided to travel abroad for some 
months and thus recuperate my exhaust- 
ed body and at the same time, if possible, 
still further enlarge my mind. 

My father had always been very anx- 
ious that I should become better acquaint- 
ed with Greater Britain, and, as he kindly 
volunteered to pay all my travelling ex- 
penses, I was only too ready to fall in with 
his ideas. I had long desired an oppor- 
tunity of visiting our Colonies — those vast 
territories beyond the seas which we are 
219 


LORD BELLINGER 


so proud to possess, whose inhabitants we 
regard with such affectionate superiority, 
and who look upon the Motherland with 
a contempt which is too kindly to pre- 
vent them from allowing her the privilege 
of defraying the cost of their maritime 
defence. 

It was at this period of his life that 
my friend Ginger Hazelton became fool- 
ishly entangled with a married woman 
named Mrs. Carter-Pickford, and at- 
tempted to extricate himself in a fashion 
that could only end in disaster. The feel- 
ing against him in society was so strong 
that he thought it wise to leave the country 
for a time until the scandal had blown 
over. I was thus fortunate enough to be 
able to inspire him with an interest in 
the Empire, and had little difficulty in 
inducing him to accompany me upon my 
journey. 

Before giving an account of our foreign 
tour I may as well say something on the 
subject of the affair which caused Hazel- 
ton to leave England so readily. 

Mrs. Carter-Pickford, the lady who 


220 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


was at once the cause and the victim of 
this unfortunate scandal, was a fluffy lit- 
tle person with large blue eyes and small 
white hands. She had married George 
Carter-Pickford, a wealthy but tiresome 
stockbroker, for the reasons that so many 
girls marry such men. He was extremely 
rich, and she was terribly tired of her 
mother’s society. The latter, Mrs. Ros- 
siter by name, was the widow of an In- 
dian judge and lived at Camberley — a 
region that is much infested by retired 
Civil servants in every stage of senile de- 
cay — in a small stucco villa called “May- 
view Lodge,” with a semicircular car- 
riage-drive lined by a dozen rather grimy 
laurel bushes. Amid such depressing 
surroundings Grace Rossiter led a dull 
existence, and it was with feelings of re- 
lief rather than joy that she accepted the 
proposal of George Carter-Pickford that 
she should share his name and fortune. 

Soon after marriage Grace found that 
her husband’s wealth did not bring her 
all the happiness she deserved, and, as 
her mother insisted upon using the Car- 


221 


LORD BELLINGER 


ter-Pickford house in Eaton Square as an 
hotel, and spent the greater part of the 
year as her guest, it sometimes occurred 
to Grace that she might just as well have 
remained a spinster at Camberley for all 
the fun that she was deriving from matri- 
mony. She was consequently in a very 
dissatisfied frame of mind and what is 
called “looking for trouble” when she 
chanced to meet Ginger Hazelton at a 
concert held at Romford House in aid of 
Woman’s Suffrage. Carter-Pickford 
was Ginger’s stockbroker, and had ad- 
vised him to invest large sums in South 
African securities in which he had lost a 
considerable sum of money. Hazelton, 
therefore, felt naturally drawn towards 
Grace, and found a common bond of sym- 
pathy in their mutual dislike of Carter- 
Pickford. They spent a happy half-hour 
together at Romford House over a loud 
and prolonged discussion of a recent novel 
(written by a woman) which was consid- 
ered so improper that everybody declared 
it to be unfit to read and the two first edi- 
tions were sold out on the day of publica- 


222 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


tion. So earnest did their argument be- 
come that they were quite unaware of the 
fact that a professional singer, who had 
kindly volunteered his services in the sa- 
cred cause of Woman’s Rights, was 
ploughing his way through a cycle of 
twenty-seven songs by Brahms. It was 
only when a lady of title, who had 
thoughtfully divested herself of most of 
her garments, gave a dance which the 
programme euphemistically referred to 
as “classical” that they began to take an 
interest in the entertainment. Indeed, 
their conversation was brought to a sud- 
den close when the distinguished dancer 
began hurling flowers among the audi- 
ence with grace and vigour, and a pecu- 
liarly fine specimen of the tulip variety 
caught Ginger a shrewd blow between 
the eyes. When order had once more 
been restored they were able to continue 
their chat, though occasionally inter- 
rupted by another strongminded woman 
who was describing with extraordinary 
eloquence how she had proved her fitness 
for the Franchise by biting two wardress- 


223 


LORD BELLINGER 


es in Holloway Prison where she had been 
brutally incarcerated in accordance with 
the man-made law which forbids one to 
throw an empty bottle at a Cabinet Min- 
ister. 

That evening, when Grace returned to 
Eaton Square, she knew that she loved 
Ginger Hazelton passionately. She at 
once set to work to win the young soldier’s 
heart, and soon succeeded in stimulating 
it to an unaccustomed celerity which 
caused its owner a good deal of pleasur- 
able perturbation. She literally threw 
herself, in fact, at the head of this suscep- 
tible young man, and effectually contriv- 
ed to turn it without much difficulty. 
Being of an unreserved and garrulous dis- 
position Grace managed to let the state of 
her feelings become generally known. 
And Society, which is instinctively kind 
to lovers — even though they may be con- 
cealing the most amorous of indiscre- 
tions behind the burly form of the phi- 
losopher Plato — aided and abetted her in 
every possible way. Wherever Ginger 
went he was always sure of finding Grace 


224 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 

Carter-Pickford. At every country 
house in which he stayed she was includ- 
ed in the list of guests. At London din- 
ner-parties thoughtful hostesses placed 
them side by side, shaking their heads 
after they had gone and saying that they 
really didn’t know what the world was 
coming to. 

Ginger was naturally flattered at re- 
ceiving such marked attention from a de- 
cidedly pretty woman, and behaved with 
less discretion than was perhaps wise. At 
a ball at Carlton House he sat out five 
consecutive dances with Grace in the gar- 
den, and when they returned to the ball- 
room it was observed that he had forgot- 
ten to brush his shoulder. Again, at a 
water-party at Taplow, Grace and he got 
lost in the woods together, and did not 
return home until long after midnight, 
when they had to be let in by the night- 
watchman. The explanation with which 
they subsequently furnished an indignant 
hostess, to the effect that they had mis- 
laid their punt-pole and been forced to 
walk home from Pangbourne, was re- 


225 


LORD BELLINGER 


ceived with the icy and incredulous si- 
lence which it deserved. 

On Grace’s twenty-sixth birthday Gin- 
ger, with that originality of mind for 
which soldiers have long been famous, 
presented her with a copy of Fitzgerald’s 
translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar 
Khayyam, On the flyleaf of this book he 
was inspired to write a few lines stating 
that if only she were singing at his side 
and he were allowed a little light re- 
freshment, a wilderness would be enough 
for him. Grace had no ear for music and 
was never allowed to sing at home. Any 
vocal exercises which she might have per- 
formed in a wilderness or elsewhere 
would probably have proved more than 
enough for most men. She was, however, 
much touched by the kindly if inappro- 
priate quotation, but would have been less 
flattered had she realised that Ginger had 
already inscribed the very same words on 
two former occasions in giftbooks which 
were now reposing on the shelves of other 
women. 

Grace Carter-Pickford was what is 
226 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


known as a “sweet woman.” In her ef- 
forts to please Ginger she became more 
saccharine than ever, until even he, sweet- 
tooth though he was, grew conscious of a 
rising feeling of mental nausea which her 
archness only served to accentuate. Her 
sweetness expressed itself in various 
forms, some of which Ginger, who was a 
selfconscious young man, found far from 
palatable. She displayed her affection 
for him openly in front of his friends, and 
would address him in endearing terms in 
public places in a fashion that made him 
painfully shy. She hated letting him out 
of her sight, would question him rigor- 
ously as to his movements, and made him 
account to her for every moment of the 
day spent away from her side. Finally, 
she acquired the habit of tenderly ruffling 
his hair — a thing that he particularly 
loathed. The climax was reached, how- 
ever, when she appeared in his rooms in 
Jermyn Street one evening and implored 
him to elope with her to Paris. Ginger 
was a very obliging young man, but the 
prospect did not appeal to him. He was 


227 


LORD BELLINGER 


already heavily in debt to various trades- 
men; he had dinner engagements which 
would make it inconvenient to leave Lon- 
don until the end of July; and he knew 
that £600 a year was scarcely a sufficient 
income upon which to support another 
man’s wife in Paris. 

His obvious reluctance proved a ser- 
ious shock to Mrs. Carter-Pickford, and 
when she had economically suggested 
Switzerland as a compromise and he still 
seemed disinclined to fall in with her 
views or let her make what is called an 
honest man of him, she was cut to the 
quick. She told him angrily that he was 
just like every other man, and was very 
much annoyed when he replied that he 
had never considered himself a freak. She 
even threatened to take the veil and re- 
tire permanently into a convent near 
Strathpeffer which she had heard of as 
being comfortable, with an excellent cui- 
sine, but Ginger was able to dissuade her 
from taking so extreme a step. Instead, 
she returned to Eaton Square and con- 
fessed to her husband, who was almost 


228 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


as angry with Ginger as she had been, 
saying that he had certainly not behaved 
like a gentleman, and refusing to under- 
take any more of his financial transactions 
in the City. 

Hazelton, thus deprived at one fell 
swoop of both love and stockbroker, re- 
tired from active society life for a time 
and agreed to join me on my Colonial 
tour. 

In the short time at our disposal it was 
impracticable to contemplate a visit to 
more than one of Great Britain’s Over- 
sea possessions. We determined there- 
fore to confine our attention to “Our Lady 
of the Snows,” as the Dominion of Can- 
ada has been somewhat erroneously term- 
ed by our greatest living English poet. 
Hazelton and I were both good sailors, as 
we had often proved while crossing the 
Channel on our way to spend a few days 
together at Ostend or in Paris. We con- 
sequently made up our minds to travel in 
a leisurely fashion across the Atlantic, 
and on a fine afternoon in July left Liver- 
pool on board the Hudson Transport 


229 


LORD BELLINGER 


Company’s S.S. Elysian, which was not 
timed to arrive in Quebec for at least ten 
days. 

Our sea-voyage was quite uneventful, 
but not uninteresting. My experience of 
ocean travelling had, as I have said, hith- 
erto been confined to numerous passages 
of the Channel, and I spent part of the 
first day on the Elysian discussing the 
science of navigation with a uniformed 
official whom I took to be the captain but 
afterwards discovered to be the deck- 
steward. We had a concert in the first 
class saloon one night, when Hazelton dis- 
tinguished himself by singing “Grand- 
ma’s, teeth are plugged with zinc” and 
other humorous songs, notably perhaps 
two parodies entitled “The Devout Plo- 
ver” and “Oh, dry those ears!” A Presby- 
terian minister who chanced to be on 
board insisted on giving what he called a 
“Reading from Charles Dickens” which 
lasted for over forty minutes and was 
quite inaudible. He also conducted a still 
lengthier service on the Sunday, at which 
however I found myself unable to be 
present. ^ 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


Our fellow-passengers were a deplor- 
ably dull collection of human beings, and 
experience has since taught me that per- 
sons who cross the ocean are as a rule ex- 
ceedingly second-rate and tiresome. I 
have indeed sometimes gone so far as to 
wonder, on reading the account of a pas- 
senger steamer being lost with all on 
board, whether such a tragedy were not a 
merciful dispensation of Providence 
whereby the world is occasionally disem- 
barrassed of some of its least agreeable in- 
habitants. 

For the sake of economy Hazelton and 
I travelled without our servants, thereby 
suffering all the inconveniences conse- 
quent upon such a sacrifice. When the 
moment came for packing our trunks we 
found ourselves particularly handicapped 
by the absence of domestics. My man 
Gregson was one of those excellent valets 
to whom packing is more of an art than 
a duty. My own attempts to emulate his 
example, though much less complicated 
in their method, were not nearly so suc- 
cessful in their results. My plan, indeed. 


231 


LORD BELLINGER 


consisted of thrusting all my clothes pell- 
mell into their boxes, and relying upon 
Providence to find room for them there. 
In this, as I fear in many other matters, 
Providence often failed to justify my con- 
fidence. ‘‘If you want a thing well done, 
do it yourself,” is an adage I have often 
heard extolled, unjustifiably, I think, 
since it is nowadays generally admitted 
that if you want a thing well done it is 
far better to employ an expert to do it for 
you. Before I left England my two port- 
manteaux had been so neatly and dexter- 
ously filled by my valet that there was 
room and to spare for all my clothes. Af- 
ter ten days on board ship, when I at- 
tempted to repack, my wardrobe seemed 
to have expanded to such an extent that I 
had the greatest difficulty in getting it 
into my trunks at all. By dint of jumping 
up and down for some time on the lid of 
my second portmanteau I managed at last 
to turn the key in the lock, and it was not 
until I had strapped it up that I found I 
had forgotten to include my pyjamas and 
slippers. My dressing-case had been 


232 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


comparatively empty when I started, but 
its contents swelled so during the voyage 
that I could find no room for my hair- 
brushes, and in trying to shut the bag I 
broke a bottle of Brilliantine over my 
sponge. The problem of making the less 
contain the greater, which had puzzled 
Euclid many years ago, occupied my 
thoughts very frequently during the last 
hours spent on the Elysian, and it was in 
a hectic condition of mind and body that 
I joined Hazelton on deck as the steamer 
came to anchor in the harbour at 
Quebec. 

This volume makes no pretensions to 
being in any way a guide-book. I do not 
therefore propose to give any vivid de- 
scriptions of the scenery of Canada or the 
customs of its inhabitants. I shall leave 
that to abler pens than mine, merely con- 
tenting myself with a few personal im- 
pressions gathered in the course of a jour- 
ney from the Atlantic to the Pacific across 
that broad Dominion which is by no 
means the most insignificant part of our 
Imperial heritage. 


233 


LORD BELLINGER 


Hazelton and I only stayed two days at 
Quebec. During that brief time, how- 
ever, we were able to leave our cards upon 
the Governor-General, who happened to 
be in residence at the Citadel but for some 
unexplained reason neglected to invite us 
to enjoy his renowned hospitality. We 
also visited the famous Montmorenci 
Falls, a romantic torrent across which an 
acrobat was engaged in walking on a 
tightrope as an advertisement for some- 
body’s pills. We also spent a pleasant af- 
ternoon on the Heights of Abraham, and 
gazed with reverence at the spot where, 
within a few yards of the new convict 
prison and in sight of the new small- 
arms factory, the hero Wolfe ^‘fell 
victorious.” 

We left Quebec on a Sunday evening, 
reaching Ottawa, the capital of the Do- 
minion, on the following day, and at once 
resumed our journey in that comfortable 
Canadian Pacific Railway train which 
was destined to carry us as far West as 
Vancouver. 

The scenery at which Hazelton and I 


234 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


gazed from the window of our “drawing- 
room” — as the section containing two 
sleeping-berths is called — during the first 
day of our journey West, was picturesque 
but monotonous. Mile after mile of well- 
wooded, wellwatered country, reminiscent 
of the south of Ireland, with no sign of 
animal life to vary the dead level of simi- 
larity, passed before our eyes. Hazelton 
and I were in a merry mood, however, 
which no scenic monotony could dispel. 
Towards five o’clock my companion de- 
clared jocosely that he had seen a bird. 
He refused to disclose any further infor- 
mation upon the subject but, on being 
pressed, stated that, as a matter of fact, he 
had also noticed, about an hour ago, what 
appeared to him to be the footprints of a 
bear in the sand at the edge of the railway 
line. In that humorous fashion for which 
I may confess without boasting that I 
have always been noted, I warned him 
that anything he might say would be 
taken down, altered, and used in evidence 
against him. The following amusing 
cross-examination, which perhaps shows 


235 


LORD BELLINGER 


what a delightfully frivolous frame of 
mind we were in, ensued : 

I. ‘‘What did you do on seeing the bear- 
tracks? 

H. Nothing. 

I. Had you been drinking? 

H. No. 

I. Why not? 

H. Because at that time I hadn’t seen 
the bear-tracks.” 

How funny we were, and how we 
laughed 1 

The only things of interest that I my- 
self observed were large numbers of lily- 
pads growing along the line. Lilypads, 
as I explained to Hazelton, form the fav- 
ourite if not the staple food of the moose. 
My friend denied this, however, saying 
that it was well known that moose sub- 
sisted exclusively upon the bark of trees. 
Hence the Canadian sport of “moose-call- 
ing” in which the Indians are so skilled. 
The sportsman (Hazelton assured me) 
conceals himself in a wood and gives vent 
to a peculiar cry towards which the 
moose, mistaking it for the bark upon 
236 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


which it loves to browse, hastens with an 
expectant air. On arriving within a few 
yards of the hunter the confiding animal is 
blown up with a shot-gun, and the day’s 
sport comes to an end. The mysteries of 
Nature are indeed strange. 

The train bore us smoothly along, day 
and night, hour after hour, past Winni- 
peg, Regina and Calgary, until at last we 
traversed the widespread Rocky Moun- 
tains, and finally reached the little town 
of Vancouver. The contrast between the 
bare and desolate prairie round Regina 
and the rich undulating landscape which 
gladdened our eye directly we crossed the 
Bow River was very startling. Still more 
startling was the sudden appearance of 
that stupendous range of hills beneath 
whose shadow Calgary nestles. Looking 
at those great stretches of Canadian prai- 
rie one is almost tempted to think that at 
the Creation of the World Providence 
suffered from some sort of temporary 
mental aphasia while this part of the 
country was in process of being manufac- 
tured. After five or six hundred miles of 


237 


LORD BELLINGER 


Providential inaction a twinge of con- 
science seems to have supervened, and the 
creation of that wonderful country which 
surrounds the Rockies has all the appear- 
ance of a tardy attempt to make amends. 

It was soon after leaving Regina that 
we came upon our first prairie fire, and I 
must admit that as a spectacle it was most 
disappointing. The common idea of such 
a conflagration, as Hazelton justly re- 
marked, is a living mass of flames extend- 
ing for a thousand miles in every direc- 
tion, and about a hundred yards high. 
When the settler sees it approaching his 
homestead he mounts his fleet mustang, 
puts his wife on the pummel in front of 
him, his baby in one pocket and his dog 
in the other, and gallops day and night 
across the plains, hotly pursued by the 
fiery elements. As the flames gradually 
gain upon him he sacrifices his wife, dog 
and child, in whatever order his affection 
or the exigencies of the moment demand, 
and at last escapes himself by plunging 
headlong into the foaming rapids of an 
adjacent torrent. Our prairie fire did not 


238 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


answer in any particular to this descrip- 
tion. It was indeed a ridiculously inade- 
quate affair, and could only have prompt- 
ed the settler to walk up to it and blow it 
out. 

Within a week of leaving Quebec we 
arrived in Vancouver. Here we proposed 
to spend at least ten days and see some- 
thing of the country. Our plans were, 
however, sadly frustrated by a tragic oc- 
currence which at once put an end to our 
brief holiday and (as far as I was con- 
cerned) completely spoilt the enjoyment 
of the trip. 

My first thought on settling down in the 
hotel at Vancouver had been to write an 
account of my travels to my parents at 
home. Ever since I was a boy I had al- 
ways made a point of corresponding regu- 
larly with my family whenever we were 
separated for more than ten days. The 
composition of my weekly letter was, 
however, a domestic duty which habit had 
not yet succeeded in robbing of its tedium. 
On this particular occasion circumstances 
conspired to make it a peculiarly disagree- 


239 


LORD BELLINGER 


able task. The implements with which 
the wellmeaning Vancouver hotel man- 
agement supplied its guests for the pur- 
poses of caligraphy could hardly be term- 
ed pens, save by a severe stretch of the 
imagination. They were, indeed, as little 
adapted to the uses of correspondence as 
are those captive blunt-nosed stubs of 
wood which telegraph-offices all over the 
world are in the habit of providing for 
their long-suffering customers. Three of 
them were irretrievably cross-nibbed, and 
the only remaining sound one had a point 
like a pin. As though to add to my dif- 
ficulties, the ink was practically useless, 
the ink-pot being nearly empty, and such 
liquid as it contained of the consistency of 
treacle. Hazelton suggested that it had 
been made by mixing soot and glue and 
adding a few hairs just to give the stuff a 
character of its own ; whatever the process 
of its manufacture, the result was deplor- 
ably unsuccessful. 

Writing letters to the dear ones at home 
is a tiresome business at the best of times; 
on this occasion I found it more than 


240 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


usually so. But I am not the sort of man 
to be baffled by trifles — barriers, as Mere- 
dith said, are meant to be surmounted — 
and though inwardly cursing the Man- 
agement for their neglect, I continued to 
carve my way laboriously across page af- 
ter page of the hotel notepaper. I was 
encouraged and upheld in the accomplish- 
ment of this feat by the knowledge that 
the completion of my selfimposed task 
would set me free for at least another 
week; that until the following Sunday I 
need give no further thought to the dear 
but distant relatives of whom I had taken 
farewell with such cheerful fortitude a 
fortnight ago at Liverpool. I was, in fact, 
beginning to experience that delightful 
feeling of ease and independence, so aptly 
described by the hymnologist as ‘‘peace, 
perfect peace, with loved ones far away,” 
when a telegram was handed to me by one 
of the hotel servants which put an alto- 
gether different complexion upon life. I 
read it hurriedly through and handed it 
to Hazelton with a frown. 

“We must go home at once, I suppose,” 
he said as he gave it back. 

241 


LORD BELLINGER 


“Tm afraid so,” I replied. 

The cable, which came from my moth- 
er, stated that my poor father had been 
suddenly taken ill and that it was essen- 
tial that I should return forthwith. This, 
as may be imagined, was extremely incon- 
venient. I had already unpacked my 
clothes, and it would take a long time to 
pack them up again. Also I had set my 
heart on spending at least a month or six 
weeks in Canada, so as to be in a position 
to write a book upon the country on my 
return to England. There could be no 
question, however, of my disobeying so 
urgent a summons, and Hazelton and I 
prepared to resume our places in the first 
east-bound C.P.R. train and hasten home 
as quickly as possible. In the circum- 
stances, a speedy journey was imperative; 
we therefore decided to sacrifice our re- 
turn tickets on the Hudson line and take 
ship on some swifter American steamer. 

Hurriedly packing our trunks as best 
we might, we hastened back to Ottawa, 
and thence proceeded to New York. Here 
we found that we need only spend twenty- 


242 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


four hours before embarking upon the 
SS. Sardonic which sailed for Liverpool 
on the following afternoon. 

It has always been a matter of intense 
regret to me that my stay in Canada was 
not sufficiently long to enable me to ‘‘get 
behind the native mind/’ so to speak. My 
friends have often expressed a wish that 
I should publish my views on Colonial 
affairs, but I have always felt a slight 
hesitation in doing so without some fur- 
ther experience of the Colonies. No doubt 
I am unique in this respect, a fortnight 
spent in any part of the world being gen- 
erally considered a sufficient excuse for a 
volume of criticism. But in spite of its 
unfortunate conclusion my visit to Can- 
ada was not, I hope, without benefit. My 
temporary presence in their midst may 
possibly have shown our cousins across 
the sea that the Englishman’s interest in 
the Colonies is not exclusively confined to 
entertaining Colonial visitors at garden- 
parties in London, where they are privi- 
leged to meet a crowd of their own kins- 
men, leavened by a few goodnatured 


243 


LORD BELLINGER 


members of Society haled in to give an air 
of distinction to vv^hat might otherwise de- 
velop into a very suburban sort of enter- 
tainment. It also enabled me to realise the 
vastness and fertility of the Empire in a 
way that nothing short of personal inspec- 
tion could have done. A leading Ca- 
nadian statesman whom I met in the train 
on the way home asked me what I thought 
of the Dominion. “I shall be glad,” I re- 
plied, “to tell my friends in England that, 
so far from being but a few million acres 
of snow and ice, Canada is a thriving land 
of promise, a land flowing with milk and 
honey. They will be no less pleased and 
astonished to hear that during the whole 
fortnight I have spent here I have never 
had occasion to wear the fur-coat and 
snow-boots which my dear mother insisted 
upon my bringing. On the contrary, I 
have seldom suffered so severely from the 
heat as I have during the last week.” The 
eminent Canadian smiled politely at my 
remarks, but did not enthuse over my ful- 
some compliments to the extent which 
they perhaps deserved. I dare say I was 


244 


FOREIGN TRAVEL 


equally unenthusiastic when he was good 
enough to explain to me — ^what most of 
his own fellow-countrymen and but few 
of mine appreciate — how, as he said, 
^^Canada saved the Empire” at the time of 
the Boer War. It appears from his ac- 
count, that the thousand or so partially 
trained Canadians who gallantly volun- 
teered for active service in South Africa, 
being naturally equipped with all those 
military qualities which make for success 
upon the field of battle and which the pro- 
fessional soldier entirely lacks, were en- 
abled so thoroughly to instruct our Eng- 
lish regulars in the art and science of war 
as to ensure a victory for the British arms. 
It is strange that a fact like this, which is 
so patent to every loyal Canadian, should 
somehow have escaped notice in England. 
I cannot account for it at all. 


245 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE RETURN. 

I SPENT most of our only day in New 
York in what is called the Rotunda of the 
Russell House, the hotel where we had 
made our headquarters. It was at least 
a week since I had seen a daily newspaper, 
and I was anxious to learn the news of the 
world. I therefore found a comfortable 
chair in the Rotunda and settled down to 
enjoy a copy of the New York Newsletter 
and Brooklyn Bugle which a waiter had 
recommended to me as being one of the 
“livest” papers in the City. 

I may have been especially fortunate or 
the reverse, but the particular copy of the 
paper that I got hold of contained sixty- 
seven pages of reading matter, as well as 
half-a-dozen profusely illustrated Special 
Supplements, and, life being short, I 
scarcely felt able to cope with such a vast 
mass. The Fashion Supplement appear- 
ed to be composed exclusively of adver- 


246 


THE RETURN 


tisements of feminine underwear, illus- 
trated by portraits of eminently respect- 
able but sparsely clad ladies, looking like 
so many denuded governesses. The Comic 
Supplement, I admit, was altogether be- 
yond me. “The adventures of Uncle 
Pike” left me cold. I found little to 
laugh at in the practical jokes of “Buster 
Brown.” The wiles of “Weary Willie” 
and the senile cunning of “Foxy Grand- 
pa” did not appeal to me, nor could I 
understand why every individual charac- 
ter in these illustrations should be de- 
picted as though in the act of exhaling 
an air-balloon inscribed with humorous 
ejaculations. Even after deciphering the 
latter I remained singularly unmoved. 

Vainly did I search this amorphous 
mass of journalistic matter for news of 
the great outer world, for some account 
of the General Election, or the Peace 
Conference, which were then taking 
place in England and at the Hague. I 
was finally forced to the mournful con- 
clusion that the American public cared 
for none of these things, that they were 


247 


LORD BELLINGER 


not interested in anything that happened 
without the limits of their own narrow 
experience. I was not, I suppose, suffici- 
ently conversant with the methods of 
American journalism to know in what 
obscure corners of the paper I must seek 
for foreign intelligence, and, after scan- 
ning column after column of sensational 
news, my eye continually repelled by 
such headlines as “Society Belle Suicides 
from Sky-scraper,’’ “Met death in an Au- 
tomobile,” “Trolley-car Turns Turtle,” 
I gave up the search in despair. 

The New York Newsletter and Brook- 
lyn Bugle, as I afterwards learnt from an 
American acquaintance, is a paper which 
everybody abuses and everybody reads. 
It aims at supplying its patrons with what 
they want, instead of attempting — like its 
more sober English contemporaries — the 
difficult task of educating the popular 
taste to appreciate something better. 
Frankly sensational news, served up in a 
frankly sensational manner, must always 
appeal to the baser side of human nature, 
and it is by pandering to the most brutal 


248 


THE RETURN 


and primitive instincts of its readers that 
the Bugle relies upon an ever-increasing 
circulation. 

There is no doubt that when the aver- 
age man opens his evening paper to find 
himself confronted with two parallel col- 
umns of print, the one headed ‘‘Bimetal- 
lism as a Factor in the State” and the 
other “Babes Butchered by Baltimore 
Bride,” his eye unconsciously selects the 
latter. He may deplore the publication 
of revolting details, but that will not pre- 
vent him from studying them. 

The proprietor of the Bugle realised 
the existence of that love of the squalid 
which is one of the essential weaknesses 
of frail humanity, and made of it the 
solid foundation of a unique journalistic 
success. The staff of his paper had strict 
orders to confine their literary talents 
within certain narrow limits; they were 
enjoined to refrain from subtlety, to shun 
paradox, to avoid writing anything which 
might not at first sight appear intelligible 
to the meanest mind. The news of the 
day was thus conveyed to the groundlings 


249 


LORD BELLINGER 


in a direct, blunt and forcible fashion, 
which left nothing to the imagination 
and did not in any way tax the brain. No 
tragedy, however squalid, was hidden 
from public view; and foreign corre- 
spondents vied with one another in ran- 
sacking the police news of their various 
capitals for deeds of shame and cruelty 
sufBciently hideous to fill the place of 
honour upon the front page of the Bugle. 

This page was entirely devoted to mur- 
ders, suicides and sudden deaths; it was 
embellished with portraits of criminals 
and their victims, and printed in two, and 
sometimes three, colours — the more 
bloody the news the more crimson being 
the ink employed in its dissemination. 
The reader in search of horrors could thus 
tell at a glance exactly where to find the 
tragedies his soul desired, and glut him- 
self to his heart’s content without any un- 
due waste of time. So long as he con- 
fined his attention to the red ink, he need 
have no fear of being entrapped into 
reading a political article or a book 
review. 


250 


THE RETURN 


Much of the remainder of the paper 
was given up to column advertisements 
of patent ^‘pick-me-ups,” quack medi- 
cines, liniments, emulsions, hair-restorers 
and so-called “lung tonics.” Grateful 
patients who had been cured of skin dis- 
eases of a peculiarly revolting character 
described their symptoms with that total 
lack of reticence which distinguishes the 
confidences of such individuals. The 
photographs accompanying these testi- 
monials were little calculated to add to 
the comfort or gaiety of readers who were 
fortunate enough not to suffer from any 
aggressive form of cuticular irritation. 
Other columns, again, were occupied by 
puffs of patent breakfast-foods, which no 
doubt contained a sufficient percentage of 
alcohol to render them popular with the 
temperate and abstemious, and brought 
them within the legitimate reach of all 
total abstainers. 

But the Bugle did not appeal exclusive- 
ly to lovers of sensation, sufferers from 
eczema, and the advocates of temperance 
and the Simple Life. It made a special- 


251 


LORD BELLINGER 


ity of those “personal paragraphs” which 
figure so conspicuously in modern jour- 
nalism and give such pleasure to the curi- 
ous and the busybody. Descriptions of 
the orgies indulged in by New York’s 
“Four Hundred” were always acceptable 
to readers who did not happen to be in- 
cluded within that select circle, or who en- 
joyed imaginative fiction under any guise. 
And the Bugle saw to it that the accounts 
of society entertainments were composed 
in a suitably lurid style and with that 
total disregard of truth which alone 
makes such “copy” readable. 

The law of libel is, it appears, seldom 
carried into effect in the United States — 
if indeed it exists — and no one would 
think it worth the trouble (or expense) to 
ask a freeborn American judge and 
jury to convict a man upon so trifling a 
charge as that of traducing the honour of 
a friend. This fact does much to lighten 
the burden of responsibility under which 
an American editor works, and, in any 
case, most of the misstatements published 
by the Bugle were of a comparatively 


252 


THE RETURN 


harmless nature. It arranged matrimon- 
ial alliances between New York girls and 
titled foreigners who had never met one 
another — prematurely announcing, for 
example, the forthcoming nuptials of the 
Grand Duke Isidor and Mrs. Hosmer 
Vanfarden, before that lady had even at- 
tempted to divorce her third husband. In 
this way it won a wellmerited repute as 
the recognised purveyor of scandal, the 
circulator of gossip, the revealer of so- 
ciety secrets. No wonder, then, that it 
was widely read in the drawing-room as 
well as on the trolley-car, and that its 
proprietor was so universally respected 
that his name figured prominently among 
those of the candidates to be nominated 
for the Presidency of the Republic. 

Occasionally, it must be admitted, the 
society reporter of the Bugle overstepped 
the bounds fixed by decency and good 
taste. For instance, when he maligned 
the beautiful Miss Ivy Vansittart — a lady 
of unimpeachable character and charm- 
ing disposition, who had probably broken 
more hearts than any other girl in New 


253 


LORD BELLINGER 


York — by suggesting that she was no bet- 
ter than she should be, the insult raised 
a storm of indignation in the bosoms of 
her many beaux. Several of the most 
chivalrous young men of Newport society 
even went so far as to declare that they 
would certainly have gone down to the 
office of the Bugle and punched the pro- 
prietor’s head, if that gentleman had not 
been a comparatively elderly man, and 
so extremely rich. 

All this I learnt, as I say, from a chance 
American acquaintance whom Hazelton 
had once met at the American Embassy 
in London and whom we were now for- 
tunate enough to run across in the Rotun- 
da of the Russell House. I was explain- 
ing to Mr. Howard P. Kimball, as he was 
called, that sensational journalism was 
practically unknown in England, when 
Hazelton drew my attention to an elderly 
gentleman who was just entering the Ro- 
tunda. In the newcomer I was delighted 
to recognise Lord Warlingham, whom I 
had not seen since that day in the train 
when he had mistaken me for a ventrilo- 
quist. 


254 


THE RETURN 


The eminent peer did not notice us at 
once. Bearing a large bundle of letters 
in his hand he crossed hurriedly to the 
fireplace and rang the bell. As he did 
so one of the bell-boys of the hotel passed 
through the room. Lord Warlingham 
turned to him rather irritably. 

‘‘Here, you page!” he said, “Bring me 
a Bradshaw!” 

“Hi! Buttons!” he continued, as the 
boy prepared to pass on. 

Thus addressed, the youth winced per- 
ceptibly. He had never been called 
“Buttons” in the whole course of his life, 
and, though he did not understand the al- 
lusion, probably suspected a veiled insult 
of some sort against which his proud Re- 
publican spirit revolted. Then, seeing that 
the remark proceeded from one whose 
side-whiskers proclaimed him to be an 
Englishman, and who could not therefore 
be expected to know any better, he decid- 
ed to treat the remark with the contempt 
that he no doubt felt it deserved. He 
gazed scornfully at Lord Warlingham 
for a moment and then went calmly on his 


255 


LORD BELLINGER 


way, leaving the old gentleman a prey to 
the most profound irritation. 

“Confound his impudence!’’ exclaimed 
Lord Warlingham, as he rang the bell 
again with a violence which but feebly 
expressed his indignation. 

In a few moments another bell-boy ap- 
peared upon the scene bearing a large 
pitcher of water which he proceeded to 
place upon the table at Lord Warling- 
ham’s side. 

“Here! What’s this?” asked the latter. 

“Ice-water, I guess.” 

“Take it away! I never ordered it. I 
wouldn’t touch it for the world! What 
on earth should I want with iced water? 
Do you think I have no regard for my 
digestion?” 

The bell-boy smiled impudently. 
“Guess I never studied your digestion 
any,” he remarked. 

“Then why do you bring me this ridi- 
culous drink?” asked Lord Warlingham. 

“You rang for it, mister, that’s why.” 

“I did not ring for it, you cheeky young 
scoundrel!” Lord Warlingham was rap- 
idly becoming hectic. 

256 


THE RETURN 


“No need to get mad, anyway,” sug- 
gested the youth. “You rang twice, didn’t 
you?” 

“Well, and what if I did?” 

“That means ice-water.” 

“Oh, indeed!” replied the peer, assum- 
ing his most satirical tone. “Do you pre- 
tend to have reduced the science of tele- 
pathy to such a point that you can ascer- 
tain the requirements of your guests by 
the manner in which they press the 
•bells?” 

“I don’t know anything about all that,” 
said the bewildered boy. 

“And suppose,” continued the other 
sarcastically, “suppose I happened to have 
a craving for — what shall we say? — ham 
or bananas or — ” 

“Ham and bananners,” echoed the boy, 
scenting an opportunity of escape. “Guess 
I’d better send a waiter.” And in another 
moment he was gone. 

Lord Warlingham gazed helplessly 
round. He realised no doubt that he was 
a stranger in a strange and perhaps hos- 
tile land, ignorant of the customs, even to 


257 


LORD BELLINGER 


a great extent of the language, of the 
country. He was about to ring the bell 
for the third time when his attention was 
attracted to the antics of a waiter who had 
brought a small table to his side and was 
deftly covering it with a white cloth and a 
few plates. 

‘What’s all this?” asked Lord Warling- 
ham petulantly, pointing to a large ham 
and a bunch of bananas which the man 
was laying reverently before him. 

“Your order, sir.” 

“My order?” 

The waiter had no doubt been warned 
by the bell-boy, and was determined to be 
patient with the distinguished lunatic. 

“Will you take any crackers with the 
ham?” he enquired politely. 

“Crackers! Do you think it’s the fifth 
of November?” Lord Warlingham’s 
thoughts possibly reverted to the days of 
his extreme youth. What on earth should 
he want with crackers at his age, he asked 
himself. Did the man suppose that he 
was in his second childhood? 

The waiter smiled tolerantly at this re- 
258 


THE RETURN 


markable specimen of English humour, 
and calmly continued making out the bill 
in duplicate. 

“Will you need the whole ham?” he 
asked. 

Lord Warlingham boiled over. “I 
don’t need ham at all!” he almost shouted. 
He certainly did not look like a man who 
had a yearning for ham, though his face 
was rapidly assuming the colour of that 
favourite dish. 

“That’ll be two dollars twenty-five,” 
said the other, quite unmoved, as he hand- 
ed the bill. 

“But I tell you, I don’t want these 
things!” Lord Warlingham tore the pa- 
per up into small fragments and flung 
them on the floor. “I never ordered 
them! Can’t you understand? Am I the 
sort of man who would eat bananas and 
ham just before lunch?” 

He looked round once more in a hope- 
less search for some means of ridding 
himself of this waiter and his intolerable 
bananas, when his eye fell upon Hazelton 
and Mr. Kimball and myself who had 


259 


LORD BELLINGER 

hitherto been amused spectators of the 
scene. 

There was something so tragic in Lord 
Warlingham’s mute appeal for help that 
we all three crossed the room together. 
The old gentleman’s face lighted up at 
the sight of his own countrymen, and 
after shaking hands warmly with Hazel- 
ton and myself and bowing to Mr. Kim- 
ball, whom we presented to him, briefly 
explained the situation. 

^^Don’t you see that the gentleman has 
no use for bananners?” said Mr. Kimball, 
addressing the waiter in a peremptory 
tone. 

“But the gentleman ” 

“Say, Adolph, are you looking for 
trouble, or what? Quit being so fresh, 
or I’ll have you fired!” 

The waiter shrugged his shoulders and 
prepared to retire as gracefully as pos- 
sible. 

“I am extremely grateful, I assure 
you,” Lord Warlingham began, turning 
to Mr. Kimball with a relieved look, 
when the waiter had gone. 


260 


THE RETURN 


‘‘Not at all,” said the other, “I saw at 
once you were a foreigner in distress.” 

“A foreigner?” Lord Warlingham 
smiled a superior smile. “Oh no, excuse 
me, I am an Englishman.” 

“Same thing over here.” 

Lord Warlingham gasped. He sud- 
denly saw himself in a quite new and un- 
dignified light. To him as to all English- 
men the word “foreigner” had always 
hitherto implied something un-English 
and therefore pitiable. It was a shock to 
realise that anyone should be so misguid- 
ed as to class him in such a category, and 
he prepared to deny the imputation. But 
on second thoughts it occurred to him that 
perhaps it would be impolite to dis- 
agree with a total stranger on a mere 
matter of taste. 

“I suppose you can always tell an Eng- 
lishman when you see one,” he remarked 
with some natural pride. 

“That’s so,” assented Mr. Kimball, 
“but I can’t tell him much.” 

Lord Warlingham looked puzzled for 
a moment, but determined to pursue the 
subject no further. 


261 


LORD BELLINGER 


is very delightful to meet one’s fel- 
low countrymen in a strange place like 
this,” he said turning with a smile to 
Hazelton and myself. “Quite a chance,” 
he continued, “as I leave for England to- 
morrow on the Sardonic” 

“What a coincidence,” I replied. 
“Hazelton and I are sailing on the same 
boat.” 

“This is indeed good news. My daugh- 
ter Aline will be delighted. Ah, here 
she is,” he added, as a good-looking girl 
came tripping down the main staircase. 

I am not superstitious as a rule, but 
when I looked up and recognised the girl 
whom I had met in the train at Paddock 
Green, I realised that this was something 
more than mere coincidence. This was 
Fate. 

Her father introduced us formally, 
and we neither of us thought it advisable 
to make any allusion to our previous 
acquaintanceship. 

Lord Warlingham then proceeded to 
explain his reasons for being in America 
in August. He had been sent, so he said. 


262 


THE RETURN 


as the representative of an influential 
British Corporation, to confer with fel- 
low delegates from all parts of the world 
at a commercial congress which was be- 
ing held in New York. The conference 
was at an end, and he was returning to 
England as quickly as possible. The 
storm and stress of New York life was as 
little to his fancy as the airless overheated 
atmosphere of the hotel. He had for so 
long been accustomed to be treated with 
deference by those whom he rightly con- 
sidered his social inferiors that it was a 
shock to find himself among a people 
who seemed to know little or nothing of 
the respect due to an English nobleman. 
The behaviour of the hotel servants es- 
pecially, left much to be desired. It was 
not, as he assured me, that they were rude, 
so much as indifferent, and then again, 
they talked a strange language which 
jarred upon his sensitive ear. 

One of them approached at this mo- 
ment and asked him for the keys of his 
room. 

“Is your baggage all fixed?” the man 
enquired. 263 


LORD BELLINGER 


luggage is not yet packed,” cor- 
rected Lord Warlingham. “But I shall 
have it ready this afternoon, after tea. 
Two portmanteaux, remember, a large 
cabin box, and a dressing-case, marked 
^Viscount Warlingham’.” 

The porter ticked them off on his 
fingers. 

“ Warlingham.’ Two trunks, a valise 
and a small grip.” 

“And mind, they are to be at the sta- 
tion in good time, so you had better send 
them down in a van.” 

“That’ll be all right,” replied the other, 
in a reassuring voice. “I’ll have them ex- 
pressed to the depot in one of the hotel’s 
delivery waggons.” 

“And there are my daughter’s boxes. 
Miss Carruther’s, too,” added Lord War- 
lingham apologetically. 

“That’ll not trouble me any,” said the 
man goodnaturedly. 

“Oh, by the by,” Lord Warlingham 
called him back rather nervously. 
“Here’s something for your trouble.” He 
pressed a bill into the man’s hand. 


264 


THE RETURN 


The latter did not appear to share any 
of the donor’s confusion. 

^^That’ll be all right,” he said again, as 
he pocketed the tip. 

As the porter moved away a bell-boy 
ran hurriedly across the Rotunda with a 
cablegram in his hand. 

“Lord Bellinger!” he called in a loud 
nasal monotone. “Lord Bellinger!” 

I stopped him as he was about to pass 
through the room and took the envelope 
from his hand. 

Alas ! As I read its contents I realised 
that my homecoming would be too late. 
I had indeed become Lord Bellinger. 

(Editorial Note. The first Lord Bel- 
linger died, as will no doubt be remem- 
bered, in the full vigour of his manhood, 
at the age of eighty-five, and would have 
been buried in Westminster Abbey if 
that edifice had not already been congest- 
ed with a mixed crowd of celebrities and 
nonentities, or if the memory of the Salt- 
ingborough Soap Scandal had not ran- 
kled in the public mind. His demise had 
been preceded, but a year before, by that 
of his second son Hugo Bellinger, who 
265 


LORD BELLINGER 


perished in his prime, pleasantly enough, 
of drink, at Monte Carlo. The title thus 
devolved upon the third son. So it was 
that at the age of five and thirty, while 
endeavouring to enjoy a brief holiday in 
the West, Richard de la Poer Bellinger 
suddenly succeeded to his father’s title, 
and became the second Baron Bellinger 
of Thorley in the County of Kent.) 


266 


CHAPTER X. 


THE RETURN {Continued) 

Considering the circumstances in 
which it was undertaken, the sea journey 
from New York to Liverpool proved far 
more enjoyable than I could possibly 
have anticipated. Calm weather and the 
society of congenial companions combin- 
ed to make the trip unusually delightful, 
and helped me momentarily to forget the 
sad loss I had so recently sustained. 

Before starting, owing to the crowded 
condition of the ship, I had only been 
able to secure a small cabin on the lower 
deck. My sudden accession to the peer- 
age, however, seems to have had a stimu- 
lating effect upon the officials of the line, 
and when I arrived on board I found my- 
self almost immediately transferred to a 
large state-room on the main deck. Its 
original occupant, an elderly lady who 
was travelling round the world for the 
sake of her health, expressed some an- 


267 


LORD BELLINGER 


noyance at being moved below to my ^4n- 
side” cabin ; but, as I explained to her, my 
grief at being the unwilling cause of her 
discomfort did not justify me in taking it 
upon myself to instruct the Chief Stew- 
ard in the duties of his office. I bowed to 
the inevitable, accepted without protest 
whatever accommodation was assigned to 
me, and recommended the old lady to 
follow my example. 

During the course of the following 
week on board the Sardonic I got to know 
Lord Warlingham and his charming 
daughter more intimately than would 
ever have been the case on dry land, and 
the more I saw of them the more I liked 
them. I admit, of course, that it was the 
companionship of Miss Aline Carruthers 
that chiefly attracted me, but Lord War- 
lingham was himself a person whom it 
was impossible not to admire. He was a 
thorough man of the world, cheerful, 
good-natured and generous. A Tory of 
the old school, with plenty of money, an 
excellent digestion, an admirable taste in 
wine, and but few cares, he lived happily 


268 


THE RETU RN — Continued 


and contentedly at his Yorkshire seat, 
surrounded by faithful dependents who 
defrauded him with impunity, and with 
an adoring daughter whom he worship- 
ped. He was a thorough bptimist to 
whom the world appeared an altogether 
delightful place. He found no fault at 
all with the scheme of things, cordially 
agreeing that ^Vhatever is, is best,” and 
adding a private rider to the effect that 
whatever was his was necessarily best of 
all. His daughter, his horses, his proper- 
ty, his port, were all perfect in his eyes, 
since they belonged to him, and the in- 
genuous manner in which he habitually 
extolled his own possessions was quite 
charming if only by reason of its essential 
simplicity. 

His illustrious ancestor, the first Lord 
Warlingham, had been a son of perhaps 
the largest-hearted of medieval English 
monarchs, who, following the curious 
custom of his time, omitted to register any 
official record of his union with that 
charming ancestress to whom the War- 
linghams of to-day are so chary of allud- 
269 


LORD BELLINGER 


ing. He himself, the direct lineal de- 
scendant of this amorous sovereign, spent 
much of his time in the bow-window of 
that famous Pall Mall Club which seem- 
ed to have been fashioned by kindly Na- 
ture to fit his wellknown figure. But 
although one of the most prominent per- 
sonages in the exclusive inner circle of 
what is technically known as London So- 
ciety, Lord Warlingham was no drone. 
His name was given a prominent position 
upon the prospectus of many a commer- 
cial enterprise, and there was scarcely any 
new company floated in the City that did 
not appeal — and seldom in vain — for the 
honour of his distinguished patronage. 
Moreover, such was his natural business 
acumen that certainly more than half the 
xompanies of which he was a director 
were perfectly solvent, if they did not 
actually pay a dividend. Lord Warling- 
ham attended Board Meetings and pock- 
eted his fees with commendable regular- 
ity, but his time was so fully occupied 
with more important matters' — notably 
golf — that he was rarely able to allow 


270 


THE RETURN — Continued 


himself the luxury of taking any active 
part in the management of those concerns 
on whose directorate he sat. 

When I first met Lord Warlingham he 
was a widower. His wife, well known in 
London society as one of the most hospi- 
table of Lenten hostesses, had died when 
Miss Aline was quite a girl — the young- 
est of a family of six, of whom four were 
daughters. 

The eldest son and heir met with a 
tragic end before he reached the age of 
thirty. He was a King’s Messenger, and 
will be remembered as one of the victims 
of a terrible French railway accident, be- 
ing killed while undertaking the perilous 
errand of carrying plovers’ eggs to His 
Majesty at Biarritz. The second son had 
just left Oxford at the time of his mother’s 
death, and was then engaged in eating his 
way to the Bar. Miss Aline’s three elder 
sisters were all married. She herself was 
a girl of some two and twenty summers 
when we first become acquainted. Fair- 
haired and pretty, she possessed a fund of 
high spirits and an infectious laugh which 


271 


LORD BELLINGER 


was particularly charming. She had 
been three or four seasons, and was 

already one of the most popular young 
women in society. As an amateur actress, 
so her father assured me, she was much 
in demand in country houses, and in the 
sacred cause of charity would frequently 
take a prominent part in those dramatic 
entertainments which are given at provin- 
cial Town Halls, when the takings seldom 
cover the incidental expenses. As an ar- 
tist she also excelled, and would make 
clever charcoal drawings of her friends 
which their relations declared to be life- 
like portraits, but which they themselves 
referred to somewhat bitterly as carica- 
tures. 

Miss Carruthers took life easily and 
was of a very peaceful and serene dispo- 
sition. There was, indeed, an air of sub- 
lime content about her which I found 
singularly delightful. This graceful 
quality of serenity — “vagueness” her 
father called it — surrounded her with an 
atmosphere of feminine helplessness 
which proved most attractive to the stern- 


272 


THE RETURN— Continued 


er and less absent-minded sex. Just as 
women wish to find in those they 
love, as Matthew Arnold says, a soul 
which never sways with the blind gusts 
that shake their own, so do most men seek 
a certain timidity and indecision of pur- 
pose in the women for whom they pro- 
pose to provide shelter and protection. 

Miss Aline’s natural vagueness had its 
drawbacks, certainly. Lord Warling- 
ham declared that she was incorrigibly 
unpunctual, unbusinesslike, unpractical; 
that she could never remember where she 
had put things, and that when she did 
remember, they were never to be found 
in that particular spot. She daily mis- 
laid her purse, her pencil, her bracelets, 
and left a trail of pocket-handkerchiefs 
behind her wherever she went. If she 
was given a letter to post (as she herself 
admitted), she would put it in her pocket 
— poche restante, she called it — and 
there it would remain indefinitely. Once 
a week in London she regularly visited 
the Lost Property Office at Scotland Yard 
to retrieve the umbrella or muff that she 


273 


LORD BELLINGER 


had left in a cab the day before, and 
would generally leave it in another cab 
on the way home. 

It seemed as though such matters as 
catching trains or retaining property were 
too mundane to affect her with any idea 
of their importance. Indeed, she lived 
very much in the clouds. When, how- 
ever, she descended to earth for a mo- 
ment, as she did now and then, to listen 
to some remark addressed to her by a 
companion, there was a celestial smile 
upon her face which at once asked and 
obtained pardon for the irrelevancy of 
her reply. 

Young men who made her acquaint- 
ance on deck, and who (being young and 
men) wished to talk exclusively about 
themselves, found her an attentive listen- 
er, but were often shocked to discover 
from the tenour of her subsequent re- 
marks that she had not heard a single 
word of what they had been saying. To 
tell the truth, they were rather afraid of 
her, for she had a keen sense of the ridicu- 
lous, and they could never be quite sure 


274 


THE RETURN— Continued 


whether she was laughing with them or 
at them. When the second officer began 
to make love to her one evening she smil- 
ed at him in so mysterious a manner, half 
maternal, half quizzical, that he at once 
became self-conscious and started talking 
feverishly about the weather. She thus 
lost many lovers, but made many friends. 

It was, I believe, a great disappoint- 
ment to her father that she had remained 
unmarried. Lord Warlingham had al- 
ways hoped that she would marry well — 
that is to say that she would choose some 
titled personage as a husband. And 
though he was too rich to be mercenary, 
and much too fond of his youngest daugh- 
ter to wish to get rid of her, it was, I fan- 
cy, to him a matter of regret that she 
should elect to remain a spinster after 
her three sisters had fulfilled the destiny 
of womankind by providing themselves 
with husbands, homes and children. All 
his other daughters had married well, 
with the single exception of the eldest, 
Constance, who ran away with a Colonial 
Bishop, and it seemed rather curious that 


27s 


LORD BELLINGER 


Miss Aline, by far the best looking of the 
four, should be the last unplucked leaf 
upon the family branch. 

In the saloon Hazelton and I joined 
Lord Warlingham and his daughter at 
the Captain’s table. Ginger kept the ball 
of conversation perpetually rolling, and, 
while he monopolised the aged peer, I 
found opportunities for many a quiet 
tete-a-tete with Miss Carruthers. Hazel- 
ton’s garrulity sometimes threatened to 
get him into serious trouble, more especi- 
ally as he entertained the dubious theory 
that it was perfectly justifiable to be un- 
truthful, if by so doing conversation could 
be stimulated or vivified. He would, for 
instance, frequently pretend to be inti- 
mately acquainted with friends of Lord 
Warlingham’s, of whom he had never 
even heard, in order, as he said, to save 
trouble. This habit of claiming friend- 
ship with complete strangers occasionally 
involved him in situations from which it 
required all my tact to extricate him. Let 
me give an example. 

‘‘You know old Lady Matilda Bid- 
276 


THE RETURN— Continued 


dulph,” Lord Warlingham remarked, one 
morning at breakfast, as a preface to some 
anecdote on the subject of that estimable 
woman’s eccentricities. 

“Know her?” said Ginger with more 
enthusiasm than regard for truth. “She’s 
my aunt!” 

“Is that so?” replied the peer. “Then 
no doubt you can tell me how she is get- 
ting on.” 

“Oh — er — she’s getting along splendid- 
ly,” replied Hazelton nervously. “She’s 
as gay as ever.” 

“Gay? Why, I thought she had only 
recently lost her husband.” 

“Oh yes, of course. When I said ^gay,’ 
I didn’t mean ^gay’ ; I meant gay consid- 
ering everything. She bears up wonder- 
fully.” 

“I have always wondered what became 
of her brother-in-law, old Colonel — Col- 
onel — let me see, what was the name?” 
asked Lord Warlingham. 

“Oh, him,” said Ginger. “You mean 
Colonel — Colonel — er — dear me — ” 

“It’s on the tip of my tongue,” remark- 
ed the peer. 


277 


LORD BELLINGER 


^‘So it is on mine.” 

“Colonel — er — Parkins, no; Park- 

hurst — ” 

“Parkwell, Parkington, Parkford,” 
suggested Ginger hopefully, “Parkbor- 
ough, Parkstone, Park — ” 

“No, no,” Lord Warlingham inter- 
rupted testily, “I remember now. Col- 
onel Brown.” 

“Oh, of course,” said Hazelton, much 
relieved. “Dear old Colonel Brown.” 

“I’m afraid he must be dead by this 
time,” continued the peer. 

“Oh yes,” said Hazelton, “quite dead.” 

“Alas! We’re none of us as young as 
we were,” sighed Lord Warlingham. 
“Time flies!” 

“Don’t say that,” replied Ginger gal- 
lantly. “Not in your society at any rate.” 

Lord Warlingham seemed somewhat 
astonished, but resumed. 

“It’s years since I visited Colonel 
Brown’s place in Aberdeenshire. What 
was the name of it? I know quite well. 
Aber — something. Not Abergeldie.” 

“Aberladdie, Abernethy,” said Ginger, 
“Aberfeldie, Aberlochie, Aber — ” 

278 


THE RETURN — Continued 


^^No, no.” Lord Warlingham stopped 
him again. “I remember now, it begins 
with a B.” 

^‘Oh, that place,” replied the other air- 
ily, drawing the long bow at a venture. 
^‘That was sold long ago.” 

^^Sold!” 

“Yes. After it was — er — burnt down.” 

“How odd that we should never have 
read about it in the papers. I thought the 
Browns were still living there. Young 
George Brown was a delightful boy. He 
can’t be dead too.” 

“Oh yes,” said Ginger, who was grow- 
ing tired of the Brown family and had no 
desire for further discussion on the sub- 
ject, “dead, quite dead. Found drowned. 
Didn’t know it was loaded, and all that 
sort of thing!” 

“Dead!” exclaimed Lord Warlingham 
and Miss Aline simultaneously. 

Ginger realised that he had made a 
blunder. “Not really dead,” he corrected 
himself. “We all thought he was dead. 
In fact — er — he thought so himself. But 
of course the report was untrue. We’d 
279 


LORD BELLINGER 


all given up hope. I’d even ordered a 
black hatband. He was at death’s door, 
but the doctor pulled him through — I 
mean back. A sad case.” 

“What was the matter with him?” ask- 
ed Miss Aline. 

“Oh, only — er — smallpox, that’s all.” 

“Smallpox!” 

“At least we thought it was. He 
thought so himself. But of course it 
wasn’t really. It was merely a chill.” 

“How very odd. You must have been 
terribly anxious.” 

“Oh yes, fearfully,” Hazelton assented. 
“Of course you’ll understand,” he ex- 
plained, “I didn’t feel what I might have 
felt — er — if the — er — if I’d — er — felt dif- 
ferently.” He broke off suddenly. “Per- 
haps,” he added, “perhaps I’m not putting 
things very clearly.” 

“I think I follow you,” said Lord War- 
lingham encouragingly. 

“I’m afraid it’s a long story,” Ginger 
remarked, “but of course if you wish — ” 

“Never mind,” interposed Miss Aline. 
“If you know the Browns so well, no 


280 


THE RETURN— Continued 


doubt you can tell us the truth about poor 
Evelyn.” 

^Toor Evelyn,” Ginger replied in a 
melancholy tone, wishing he had never 
heard that person’s name before. “He 
and I were boys together!” 

“But surely Evelyn was a girl?” 

“Oh, ah, yes ; we were girls together, I 
mean. That’s to say, I was a boy together, 
and she was a girl — ^/together.” 

“It was a sad accident, if I remember 
right,” said Lord Warlingham. “I for- 
get which arm she lost.” 

“Both,” said Ginger firmly, anxious to 
be on the safe side. 

“Both?” 

“Yes, and both legs.” 

“But we never heard — ” Miss Aline 
began. 

“Ah no,” he interrupted. “She keeps 
it dark. Won’t let anyone find out.” 

“But how on earth can she help — ” 

“Hal” replied Ginger mysteriously, 
“that’s her secret!” 

At this point, in response to an appeal- 
ing glance, I came hurriedly to my 
friend’s rescue. 


281 


LORD BELLINGER 


^‘Let’s go on deck and see if there are 
any icebergs,” I said to Miss Aline. 

“Oh, do let’s,” was her reply. 

Lord Warlingham and Ginger joined 
us later, and as they approached I heard 
the former ask Hazelton if he was well 
acquainted with America. As I knew 
that this was Ginger’s first visit to that 
continent I was surprised when he replied 
that he had known it from childhood. 

“I’m half American myself,” he ex- 
plained. “I was practically born on a 
ranch in Jonesville, Mo., or Me. or Ma. 
— I forget which.” 

“Indeed?” said Lord Warlingham. 
“I’ve always longed to visit the West. I 
suppose you spent most of your time 
there in the saddle?” 

“Always in it. Never left it. From 
ten to four every day, with half an hour 
for luncheon; except of course on Sun- 
days, or when there was an avalanche.” 

“What a wonderful life,” said Miss 
Carruthers. “I expect you’re a regular 
cowboy at heart.” 

“I am, oh, I am! I simply love cows — 


282 


THE RETURN— Continued 


I mean, lassoing cows and — er — making 
Bovril, and all that sort of thing.” 

“Did you ever have any terrifying ad- 
ventures with desperadoes?” asked the 
girl. 

“Fearfully terrifying.” 

“Do tell me, have you ever shot a 
man?” 

“Oh, once, or twice,” he answered 
airily. 

“I remember you peppered me at Bel- 
linger when we were out after rabbits,” I 
began. 

“What had the man done?” pursued 
Miss Aline, ignoring my interruption. 

“I forget,” said Ginger. “I expect he’d 
annoyed me. They’re very annoying, 
some of them. I’ve had to speak to them 
rather sharply about it more than once.” 

“Well,” said Lord Warlingham, “you 
must be glad to be getting back to civili- 
zation again ; for I don’t suppose you had 
much society out in the West.” 

“Nothing to speak of.” 

“Weren’t there any women?” asked 
Miss Carruthers. “One always reads in 
Bret Harte — ” 


283 


LORD BELLINGER 


“Oh, a few, of course — ” I could see 
Ginger ransacking his memory for any 
recollection of the heroines of backwoods 
fiction. “There was — let me see — Rosa- 
lie, the Prairie Flower, and — er — some 
Indian squaws. But Dick knows more 
about squaws than I do.” 

“I don’t know anything at all about 
them,” I answered indignantly. 

“Dick’s so unconventional,” he contin- 
ued. “He snaps his fingers at the world. 
Show them how you snap your fingers, 
Dick.” 

“I won’t,” I said angrily. “I can’t 
snap my fingers.” 

“Oh yes you can. Miss Carruthers, do 
ask him to snap his fingers. It’s such 
fun.” 

“What a delightful life you must have 
led,” said Miss Aline, disregarding his 
foolishness. “I can picture it all clearly. 
The bluff but honest miners, armed to 
the teeth, and you in the middle, the cow- 
puncher — ” 

“Ah yes, ah yes,” exclaimed Ginger 
fervently, “ quite a hobby of mine — cow- 


THE RETURN — Continued 

punching was. I just didn’t care what 
sort of a cow it was; I’d give it such a 
punch! There was one in particular, her 
name was Margaret, an Alderney with 
one white stocking — but perhaps I ought 
not to tell you that story. Ah,” he added, 
“those nights on the bounding prairie, 
with nothing but the howling of the coy- 
ote and the singing of the bullfrogs to 
hush one to sleep! However, I’ve shak- 
en them off my feet now, thank goodness !” 

“If you say you’re half American,” re- 
marked Miss Carruthers, “I think it’s 
rather unpatriotic of you to be so glad to 
get away from the land of your birth.” 

“Oh, but I’m frightfully loyal really. 
I love the Swanee River and Bill Bailey 
and the Old Folks at Home, and dough- 
nuts and pea-nuts, and terrapin and sera- 
phim, and canvas-backed clams and the 
Star-bangled spanner! I always take my 
hat off and stand bareheaded in the street 
for hours whenever the band plays ‘Yan- 
kee Doodle.’ ” 

“Does the band ever play it?” Lord 
Warlingham enquired with interest. 

285 


LORD BELLINGER 


“I don’t think so,” replied Ginger. ‘‘In 
fact, I hope not. But there’s a band on 
board the boat, and we might ask it to. 
I haven’t got a hat or you’d see how fear- 
fully patriotic I am.” 

During our all too short journey across 
the Atlantic I found much to delight me 
in Lord Warlingham and his daughter, 
especially in the friendship which the lat- 
ter and I gradually formed for one an- 
other. The incipient stages of an inti- 
macy between two kindred souls are noth- 
ing less than sheer delight. The half 
timid confidences, the joyful surprise at 
the discovery of common tastes and inter- 
ests, all the delicate subtleties of mutual 
intercourse, which bloom from the seed 
of a friendship newly sown, how sweet 
they are to the heart that is young enough 
to anticipate no disenchantment, and still 
hopes much and fears not at all! To 
youth each budding acquaintance affords 
a fresh source of enjoyment, a strange ter- 
ritory to be explored, hidden depths to 
be plumbed ; each new friend is a poten- 
tial lover. The soul that seeks its mate 


286 


THE RETURN— Continued 

may find it in the most unexpected places 
and amid the most unpromising sur- 
roundings. Even the saloon of an Atlan- 
tic steamer holds an element of romance 
for those who have the grace to search for 
it and the good fortune to find it. With 
thoughts such as these in my mind I was 
dozing in my cabin one morning after 
breakfast when Hazelton brought me 
rather disturbing news. 

It was about eleven o’clock on the last 
day of our voyage when he entered my 
cabin without knocking. I was still in 
bed and resented his intrusion, and so 
took no notice of my visitor. 

“Hullo, Dick!” he cried heartily. 
“Good morning!” 

I looked up for a moment out of the 
corner of my eye, and then once more 
closed that optic, nestled down among 
the bedclothes and commenced to snore. 

“Wake up!” he shouted. “It’s time to 
get up !” 

“Hush!” I replied, still keeping my 
eyes tightly shut. “Don’t disturb me. 
Can’t you see that I’m saying my 
prayers?” 287 


LORD BELLINGER 


“Don’t be an ass!” Ginger poked me in 
the ribs with his foot. 

“Since nothing is sacred to you,” I said, 
turning round in bed, “take a chair.” 

Thus invited, he sat down on the sofa 
without observing that my clothes had 
been laid out there ready to be put on. 
On finding himself sitting upon the front 
of a white shirt he apologised profusely. 

“Don’t mention it,” I replied, though 
I was rather vexed at his carelessness. “I 
prefer a spatchcocked shirt to the ordin- 
ary kind!” 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he 
said. 

“You are, but no matter. What can I 
do for you?” 

“The fact is, Dick, old boy, I’m in 
trouble.” 

“How much do you want?” I asked. 

“No, no,” he replied indignantly, “this 
is no mere matter of money.” 

“What’s the lady’s name?” 

“How did you guess?” 

“Look here,” I said, “before we pro- 
ceed any more with the moving tale of 


288 


THE RETURN — Continued 


your amours, let’s settle one thing defin- 
itely. You want my advice, don’t you? 
But do you really wish for my candid 
opinion? That’s what I want to know.” 

“Oh, well,” he answered hesitatingly, 
“if you put it like that — ” 

“Exactly,” I interrupted. “I thought 
as much. Now, when you’ve finished 
your story, wake me up and tell me what 
you want me to advise, and I’ll advise it. 
It’ll be easier for me, pleasanter for you, 
and altogether more satisfactory in every 
way.” 

“Wake up!” he said firmly, as I pre- 
pared to resume my interrupted slumbers. 
“Wake up and listen. You see, Dick, it’s 
like this. I’m most awfully in love.” 

“Really, Ginger, you’re quite incorri- 
gible.” 

“What on earth do you mean?” 

“You’re always in love.” 

“How can you say such a thing?” 

“My dear Ginger, I’ve seen you 
through the illness a score of times.” 

“Oh, rot; besides, this time it’s the real 
thing.” 


LORD BELLINGER 


always is,’’ I said. “Do you re- 
member how desperately you cared for 
Lady Mildred Burling?” 

“Hang it all, I was only a boy of nine- 
teen.” 

“You carried her photograph about in 
the back of your watch.” 

“I was only an infant, I tell you.” 

“What about Elsie Stair?” I pursued 
inexorably. “Was that calf-love too?” 

“Oh, Elsie,” he admitted, “well, after 
all, I was still very young. I own that I 
did think that I was in love with her, but 
of course I wasn’t really. And I don’t 
see why you should rake up these old 
affairs.” 

“I suppose you’ve forgotten all about 
that girl at the Gaiety?” 

“Really, Dick, you know quite well 
that was altogether a different thing. Do 
be decent.” 

“All the same, you’d have married her, 
I believe, if it hadn’t been for the war.” 

“Well, at any rate,” he said, “you won’t 
accuse me of being in love with anybody 
during the South African campaign.” 


290 


THE RETURN— Continued 


“For the best of reasons,” I replied. 
“You didn’t have the chance.” 

“That’s where you’re jolly well mis- 
taken,” he replied. “When I was in hos- 
pital at De Aar there was a ripping nurse 
— a lady too — who used to come and sit 
by my bedside for hours at a time. I’ve 
got her photograph somewhere.” 

“Has she got yours?” 

“Yes — no — I don’t know.” 

“Oh, Ginger, Ginger!” 

“Anyhow, I’ve given up all that sort 
of thing long ago.” 

“Have you?” I replied. “There was a 
dizzy blonde from Chicago whom we met 
on the boat coming out.” 

“Nonsense,” said Ginger angrily. “I 
was only ordinarily civil to her, that’s 
all.” 

“If being ordinarily civil implies sit- 
ting on the bridgedeck at midnight hold- 
ing a lady’s hand — ” 

“Really, Dick! That one occasion you 
refer to was a pure accident.” 

“I suppose you’ve already forgotten all 
about poor Mrs. Carter-Pickford,” I add- 
ed unkindly. 


291 


LORD BELLINGER 


‘‘No, I haven’t. I’m awfully fond of 
her still. I really believe I’d have mar- 
ried her if she hadn’t been married al- 
ready.” 

“I’m glad you share the popular prej- 
udice against bigamy. But we’re wan- 
dering from the point. How do you want 
me to help you?” 

“You see it’s like this,” said Ginger. 
“I’m awfully in love with Miss Carru- 
thers.” 

I sat up in bed. 

“Really, Ginger, you are incorrigible,” 
I repeated, ‘llf you were in your grave 
and there was another coffin within range 
I verily believe you’d tap on it and try to 
start a flirtation.” 

“This isn’t a flirtation,” he assured me. 
“I proposed to her last night.” 

“Good heavens! And I suppose she 
refused you.” 

“Yes, but I don’t know why you should 
suppose anything of the sort. She told 
me she wasn’t free.” 

“Not free?” 

“It appears that she’s partly engaged to 
her cousin Lord Banchory.” 

292 


THE RETURN— Continued 


^‘What! Isn’t he halfwitted?” 

‘‘Yes, and the other half I don’t like. 
But I believe he’s really quite a good fel- 
low, and Lord Warlingham is very keen 
on the alliance. Miss Carruthers hasn’t 
made up her mind. In fact I rather think 
she came abroad partly for the purpose 
of getting a little time to herself to think 
the matter over. Banchory’s devilish 
rich, and as his father owns a huge prop- 
erty in the North of England it’s about a 
thousand to one that he’ll be offered an 
Undersecretaryship in the next Conser- 
vative Government.” 

“This is bad news,” I replied. 

“Dashed bad news — for me.” 

“And for me,” I said. 

“Why?” 

“Because Vm in love with her too.” 

“Hang it all!” he exclaimed, “that isn’t 
fair! You weren’t in love ten minutes 
ago.” 

“Yes I was, and what’s more I’m going 
to propose to her to-day.” 

“I’ll never ask you for your advice 
again as long as I live,” said Hazelton 
furiously. 


LORD BELLINGER 


‘‘That’s right,” I retorted brutally, 
“and shut the door after you.” 

He bounced out of the cabin, leaving 
the door wide open. 

Left to myself I began to see that there 
was some element of truth in Ginger’s ac- 
cusation. Not to realise the value of any- 
thing until one is in danger of losing it is, 
I imagine, a common experience. As 
soon as I heard that Miss Carruthers was 
likely to be engaged to another man I 
became aware of the fact that I myself 
was badly in need of her. 

I am not a man who cares to beat about 
the bush, and after dinner that evening I 
managed to lure Miss Aline to a deck- 
chair in a sheltered corner of the upper 
deck, and determined that she should not 
escape until I had heard from her own 
lips whether or not she was really pledg- 
ed to Lord Banchory. She seemed to be 
conscious that I had something particular 
to say to her, and showed a strong disin- 
clination to remain alone in my society. 
With some difficulty, however, I con- 
trived to shake off Lord Warlingham and 


294 


THE RETURN — Continued 


Ginger Hazelton, and sat down beside 
her in the growing darkness. 

We were both silent for a few moments. 
^What have you got on your mind?” I 
asked at length. 

‘‘Lots of things.” 

“Happy things?” 

“Oh yes,” she replied rather wistfully. 

“Then why do you look so grave?” 

“I don’t know. life is not very easy 
sometimes.” 

“Tell me.” 

She looked up at me with a smile. “I 
can’t very well,” she said. “You see, 
there are some things one has to settle all 
alone. No one can help.” 

“I somehow feel that a friend can help 
almost every time, don’t you?” 

“The fact is,” she continued, “I’ve got 
to make up my mind about something. 
And that’s never an easy matter.” 

I made no reply to this, being wise 
enough to say nothing that might stem 
the current of her speech. Silence so of- 
ten extracts confidences where importun- 
ity only suggests caution and secrecy. 


295 


LORD BELLINGER 


“I — a great friend of mine,” she went 
on, ^^a woman of my own age, has asked 
me for advice.” 

“Yes?” 

She hesitated. “You see, she’s not a 
girl any longer, and the years are passing 
by — and everybody tells her — ” 

“That she ought to get married?” 

“Yes. How did you know?” 

“I guessed. Is she happy?” I asked. 

“Oh, in a sort of way. But sometimes 
she’s — lonely, and — and her family want 
her to marry too.” 

“Just marry vaguely, d’you mean? Or 
is there someone — ” 

“Oh yes, there’s someone. And of 
course — at least I suppose — he wants to 
marry her.” 

“Naturally. And what does she 
want?” 

“She doesn’t know what she does want, 
quite.” 

“Does she care about him?” 

“She’s fond of him, but not in that 
sort of way. He’s her cousin, and very 
nice, I think, and she has told him that 


296 


THE RETURN— Continued 


perhaps if he will wait — she has given 
him to understand that perhaps — Oh, it’s 
hard to explain,” she broke off. 

^^And she has to give him an answer 
soon?” I said. 

“Very soon,” she answered. “You see, 
she doesn’t think it fair to keep him hang- 
ing on. And yet,” she mused, “I wonder 
whether she wouldn’t be wiser to marry 
a man she is good friends with, whom she 
believes to be straight and true, rather 
than wait until — ” 

“Until she meets someone she can fall 
in love with.” 

“That’s impossible!” she laughed. 
“ ‘Mr. Right,’ as the nurses say, will 
never ‘come along.’ ” 

“Isn’t there any other friend — a man, 
say — whom she could consult?” I asked. 

“No. I don’t think so. No friend, that 
is, who wouldn’t perhaps be prejudiced 
one way or the other.” 

“I expect you’re right,” I said, after a 
moment’s thought. “No man willingly 
advises a girl to get married. The respon- 
sibility is too great, in the first place; in 
the second, it means the loss of a friend,” 

297 


LORD BELLINGER 


Miss Carruthers looked up at me en- 
quiringly. 

^^IVe always found it so,” I went on. 
^^IVe made a few good friends in my life, 
of unmarried women and men. But di- 
rectly they married, a sort of a barrier 
seemed to rise between us. We were both 
of us aware of it, and sorry about it too, 
I think. But it couldn’t be helped. 
There’s just as great a gulf fixed between 
the married and the single as there is be- 
tween the sexes, and nothing can ever 
bridge it.” 

^^But surely you have many real friends 
who are married?” she asked. 

“I have a few. But they were already 
married when we made friends. What 
I mean is — ” 

^‘Yes, I see what you mean,” said Miss 
Aline, “you mean that if I were to get 
married, for instance, you and I would 
cease to be friends in the same sort of 
way.” 

“Exactly. So you see I’m ‘prejudiced,’ 
to quote your words.” 

“And you won’t advise me about my 


THE RETURN— Continued 


‘T won’t advise you about yourself.” 

“Miss Aline,” I added, in answer to her 
look of surprise, “I’ve known all along 
who your friend is, and perhaps you knew 
that I knew — ” 

“I didn’t, I didn’t!” she insisted. 

“Then will you listen to me?” 

With woman’s instinct of selfdefence 
she seemed inclined to resist. 

“Isn’t it rather damp sitting here?” she 
said weakly. 

“No,” I replied firmly. 

“You ask me whether I mind your 
marrying,” I continued. “I can only an- 
swer that there’s nothing in the world I 
should mind so much.” 

She looked anxiously into my face as 
though to read my thoughts, and held up 
her hand, intuitively divining what was 
coming. 

“You won’t say anything to spoil our 
friendship, will you?” she cried hastily. 

For answer I took her hand in mine. 
When she attempted to draw her fingers 
away my grasp only tightened. 

“I must risk that,” I said. “I know I’ve 


299 


LORD BELLINGER 


no right to say anything of this kind. But 
I just want you to know that I love you. 
I have loved you, I think, ever since that 
day we met in the train, do you remem- 
ber?” 

“Stop, stop ! I beg of you. And let go 
of my hand, please. Fancy if anyone 
were to see us!” 

“There’s nobody on deck.” 

“One of the stewards.” 

“I don’t care for a thousand stewards.” 

“Very likely not. But I do. Oh, Lord 
Bellinger, you’ve spoilt everything. I 
thought we were always going to be such 
good friends, and now — but you don’t 
know me at all,” she added with an in- 
dignation which seemed to be struggling 
with her sense of the ridiculousness of 
the situation. 

“I know myself pretty well by this 
time. And I know that I love you, and 
that’s enough.” 

“Really, Lord Bellinger — ” 

“I didn’t mean to tell you about it just 
yet awhile. Miss Aline, but what you have 
told me about yourself — ” 


300 


THE RETURN— Continued 


‘What on earth have I told you about 
myself?” 

“That you had an idea of getting mar- 
ried. And I hate the thought of it.” 

“Do you want me to remain a spinster 
all my days?” she asked, trying to turn 
the thing off as a joke. 

“I want you to marry me.” 

She laughed softly. 

“If you didn’t look so serious,” she de- 
clared, “I should think you were jesting.” 

“I’m in earnest, dead earnest. Oh, of 
course, I know it must surprise you — ” 

“What? That anyone should want to 
marry me?” 

“No. But that I should propose so un- 
expectedly. Miss Aline, I want you to 
promise me not to do anything in a 
hurry.” 

“I really don’t see why I should prom- 
ise you anything at all.” 

“I’ve no right to ask it, and you’ve 
every right to be angry with me, but I’m 
so much in love with you that I’ll risk 
your anger. It would be foolish of me to 
say that I’m not the sort of man you ought 


301 


LORD BELLINGER 


to have for a husband, because no man 
in the world can be good enough for that. 
But I love you, and I mean to marry 
you — ’’ 

“Mean to marry me?” she repeated in- 
dignantly. “Really, I — ” 

“Please don’t say it,” I interrupted her. 
“I know you haven’t thought of me at all, 
except as a friend, and I’m not asking you 
to give me an answer. I too can wait till 
the end of Time if necessary, and I’m 
hopeful enough to think that if I love you 
hard enough and long enough you may 
some day — ” 

“I ought to be very grateful to you. 
Lord Bellinger,” she broke in, “but real- 
ly I’m terribly sorry this has happened. I 
had no idea — ” 

“I didn’t mean that you should. I 
wouldn’t have said a word, only circum- 
stances hurried things on.” 

Miss Aline rose from her chair. 

“We must be getting back to the sa- 
loon,” she added. “It’s nearly twelve 
o’clock.” 

“Will you think over what I’ve said,” 


302 


THE RETURN— Continued 


I asked earnestly, “and remember that I 
am willing to wait?” 

“If you like. But I can tell you now 
that it’s not very much use. Don’t be 
angry with me. You know I like you 
very much, and I want us two to be good 
friends.” 

“But—” 

“Please, Lord Bellinger,” she implor- 
ed, as we descended to the companion, 
“don’t let us talk about it any more.” 

“As you will,” I replied. 

The journey came to an end on the fol- 
lowing morning. We all travelled up to 
London from Liverpool together, and at 
Euston Station we said goodbye with 
many expressions of friendship and re- 
gret. I had no opportunity for any fur- 
ther conversation with Miss Aline, but 
as I shook her hand at the station, while 
Lord Warlingham was busy saying fare- 
well to Hazelton, she looked up at me 
with a curiously sympathetic light in her 
eyes. 

“Did you really mean what you said 
last night?” she asked. “Will you really 
wait?” 


303 


LORD BELLINGER 


the end of time,” I replied. 
^Tlease wait,” she said gently, as she 
turned away. 


304 


CHAPTER XI. 


HOME AGAIN. 

From Euston station I drove straight 
to Bellinger House to see my mother. 

“Is Lady Bellinger at home?” I asked 
the butler. 

“Yes, m’lord,” he replied. 

It was not until I heard these last un- 
accustomed words that I fully realised 
the complete change that had come over 
my life, and understood the heavy re- 
sponsibilities that Time had laid upon 
my shoulders. Providence moves in a 
mysterious way its wonders to perform, 
but I have gradually come to recognise 
the fundamental justice that controls the 
world, and I think I understand why it 
is that Fate chose me from many mil- 
lions of others — even from my own im- 
mediate family — to take my place in the 
highest council chamber of the land, side 
by side with all those who, like myself, 


30s 


LORD BELLINGER 


have been Providentially selected to con- 
trol the destinies of the Empire. 

My advent in London, as I discovered 
to my cost, had been heralded by long ar- 
ticles in the halfpenny press, which gave 
fanciful descriptions of my appearance 
and habits, and romantic accounts of my 
sudden accession to the title. Accord- 
ing to one of the most imaginative of 
these papers, the “Prairie Peer,” as I 
was called — for no ostensible reason ex- 
cept that I had recently returned from 
Vancouver — had been branding bronchos 
on his ranch in the wild and woolly West 
when the news of his good fortune was 
brought to him by a breathless despatch- 
rider. Without a moment’s hesitation he 
flung his leg across the back of his fa- 
vourite buckjumper, and rode day and 
night over the plains until he finally 
reached the coast. Here he either char- 
tered a special steamer, or else worked his 
passage in the stokehole of a liner (the 
Daily Reflector was not quite certain up- 
on this point), and eventually landed at 
Liverpool, attired in fringed buckskin 
306 


HOME AGAIN 


trousers and a sombrero hat. ^‘It was a 
strange homecoming for the son of one 
of England’s greatest statesmen,” said the 
journal in question, “and we are fortu- 
nate in being able to supply our readers 
with a portrait of this noble scion of a 
noble house who, after so many years of 
wandering in the backwoods, has come 
into his own at last.” The accompanying 
photograph represented a most villain- 
ous-looking bushranger, backed by an in- 
set of a log-cabin in which I had never 
dreamt of being born. 

From the moment of my arrival in 
London communications poured in upon 
me by every post. By far the larger por- 
tion of this correspondence consisted of 
begging letters, dealing with every con- 
ceivable form of mortal woe and describ- 
ing every phase of human tragedy. I 
was amazed at the number of apparent- 
ly respectable persons (with huge fami- 
lies) who had lost one or more of their 
limbs, and relied upon my bounty for that 
small sum which should provide them 
with permanent employment and keep 


307 


LORD BELLINGER 


their children from the workhouse. I 
was naturally inclined towards indis- 
criminate charity, but had been taught 
by Christian parents that philanthropy 
of this kind is merely selfish, and that it 
is better that ten deserving persons 
should starve than that one fraud should 
be encouraged. I therefore referred a 
selection of the most plausible cases to 
the Charity Organisation Society, with 
the inevitable results. 

For the first two months in England 
my time was fully occupied with domes- 
tic affairs — notably the payment of heavy 
death-duties and the transference of my 
dear mother to the Dower House whither 
she was somewhat reluctant to move. In 
some slight measure to console her for 
so distasteful a change I presented her 
with my grandfather’s entire collection 
of stuffed birds — I had offered them to 
South Kensington Museum but they had 
been politely declined — and for some 
months the front hall of the Dower 
House was congested with moulting 
puffins. 


308 


HOME AGAIN 


Bellinger Hall had but recently been 
rebuilt and refurnished, and I spent 
many hours there in consultation with 
Mr. Minting, my agent, discussing mat- 
ters affecting the management of the 
estate. 

I think I may truthfully say that my 
tenants and employes have always found 
me a just landlord and a kindly master. 
If during the last few years I have been 
forced to discharge a good many of the 
older men on the estate, it is only be- 
cause a scoundrelly Radical government 
has imposed a rascally super-tax which 
has forced me to cut down my establish- 
ment, to curtail my charities, and gen- 
erally to economise at the expense of 
others. Ignorant persons who read in 
the lower-class papers that my income is 
about £40,000 a year, very possibly as- 
sume that I am therefore a very wealthy 
man. They do not realise the expense 
of living in the style to which I have al- 
ways been accustom"'^, which I cannot 
reduce without gra’ injury to my de- 
pendants. My chef or instance, draws 


LORD BELLINGER 


a salary of £450 a year. The upkeep of 
Bellinger House, Mayfair — Bellinger 
Hall and the estate are, I am glad to say, 
selfsupporting — forms no inconsider- 
able item of my expenditure. The rear- 
ing of pheasants costs me another £2,000 
a year. The cost of maintaining four 
motors, as well as a stable full of horses, 
is a very heavy one. And when I have 
paid for all this and for my box at the 
Opera, and have sent my annual sub- 
scriptions to the dozen or so of clubs to 
which I belong, to the King’s Hospital 
Fund, the Central Conservative Organi- 
sation, the Land Defence Association 
and the Tariff Reform League, and 
have set aside an annual £3,000 or £4,000 
to enable my heirs to pay the iniquitous 
death-duties, I don’t suppose I have 
more than at the outside £8,000 a year 
left for current expenses. Indeed, I am 
often tempted to envy poorer men with, 
say, four or five thousand a year, who 
have ‘no position 3 keep up and can 
spend their entir income upon them- 
selves. 


TO 


HOME AGAIN 


I have always regarded the money I 
inherited from my father as a trust of 
the most sacred kind, and have tried to 
use my wealth to the best of my ability 
for the furtherance of the public weal. 
Only last year I presented the village of 
Thorley with a pump and drinking- 
trough, much to the delight of the inhab- 
itants who up till then had watered their 
cattle in the river Chouse, thereby mud- 
dying the stream and doing much 
damage to my trout-fishing. My hospi- 
tality has always been of a lavish nature. 
At Bellinger Hall I entertain those of 
my tenants who pay their rents regularly 
at an annual luncheon where they en- 
joy cucumber sandwiches, cider-cup and 
other luxuries which they cannot obtain 
at home. The only return for my hos- 
pitality which I demand on such occa- 
sions is the polite attention of my guests 
for a few moments after luncheon while 
I take the opportunity of making them a 
nonpartisan speech intended to foster 
that spirit of patriotism which shows 
signs of dying out in the country dis- 


LORD BELLINGER 


tricts. My agent, Mr. Minting, who is 
a true Imperialist at heart — and by Im- 
perialist I mean a man who realises that 
England is on its last legs and will short- 
ly become a fifth-rate power unless some 
alteration is made in our present fiscal 
system — usually writes this speech for 
me. 

Once a year, too, I give a big garden- 
party at Bellinger, to which I invite all 
‘*the neighbours,” those tiresome people 
on whose behalf it has been deemed nec- 
essary to frame a special commandment 
urging us to the impossible task of lov- 
ing them as ourselves. 

As Colonel of the local Yeomanry 
many demands are made upon my purse. 
The corps which I have the honour to 
command is certainly, from the point of 
view of its uniform and general appear- 
ance on parade, the smartest of all the 
Territorial units. I spare no expense to 
ensure efficiency. When we go to camp 
for a brief summer training, every tent 
is lighted with electricity and the of- 
ficer’s mess-hut is decorated with the 


312 


HOME AGAIN 


rarest hot-house plants from the gardens 
of Bellinger. Need I say that my re- 
cruiting sergeants have no difficulty in 
inducing the gallant men of Thorley, of 
Burlingford and the whole Tilwood 
country, to show their public spirit by 
sacrificing a week of their employers’ 
time amid the luxurious surroundings 
with which I seek to repay their patriot- 
ism? 

Persons who know little or nothing of 
the myriad duties of a country squire 
may often fancy the life of a landowner 
to be a leisurely and altogether agree- 
able existence. They think, perhaps, 
that he does but little hard work, forget- 
ting that his responsibilities are many 
and onerous, especially in these socialis- 
tic days when everything is being done 
to make it impossible for a man to enjoy 
the ownership of property without pay- 
ing for it. I may possibly show that the 
wealthy are not relieved of that labour 
which is the common lot of humanity if 
I give a brief account of a typical day of 
my life at Bellinger. 


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LORD BELLINGER 


I usually rise early and have breakfast 
at about half-past nine, or at ten o’clock 
in the winter. The morning, up till 
nearly noon, is devoted to a perusal of 
the papers and the answering of my cor- 
respondence by Mr. Minting. I may 
then perhaps stroll down to the ornamen- 
tal water in the park to feed the swans, 
or proceed to the keeper’s cottage where 
I probably learn that the recent drought 
(or the heavy rain) has killed the young 
partridges or that the retriever puppies 
have died of distemper. After giving 
the necessary orders that more birds or 
dogs be obtained from London I return 
to luncheon, looking in at the stables on 
my way. In the afternoon I very likely 
order a motor out to take me down to 
the Home Farm to superintend the erec- 
tion of a new pigsty. On my way home 
I often drop in at the Dower House to 
see my mother, or at the cottage of one 
of my tenants to ask after the children. 
I believe in keeping in the closest pos- 
sible personal touch with my dependants, 
and Mr. Minting has often assured me 


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how much their wives look forward to 
these little surprise visits of mine, un- 
less they happen to coincide with wash- 
ing-day. I get back home to tea at about 
five o’clock, pleasantly tired, and the rest 
of the day is given up to recreation, read- 
ing (of which I am very fond) or bil- 
liards. 

A great deal of nonsense was talked at 
the last General Election on the subject 
of the intimidation alleged to be practiced 
by landlords. I for one have made an es- 
pecial point of allowing my tenants and 
employes perfect freedom of thought, as 
long as they do not take too great an ad- 
vantage of my tolerance. I should be the 
last person in the world to interfere with 
their political views or opinions, except 
by an occasional timely word of warning 
or advice. At the same time, as a man of 
principle I feel it my bounden duty to 
make it quite plain to them that the return 
to power of a Radical government means 
a reduction of my staff and a consequent 
loss of employment to many, to say noth- 
ing of the inevitable raising of rents to 


LORD BELLINGER 


meet the additional expense entailed in 
the payment of those spoliatory taxes 
which are now levied on all landed 
property. 

Of my personal popularity with my 
household and employes there is, I am 
glad to say, no doubt. At Christmas I 
generally give an umbrella to each of the 
footmen, and a Russia-leather purse to 
the housekeeper, and make suitable gifts 
of a similar nature to the other servants. 
Every labourer on the estate who has 
reached the age of ninety without receiv- 
ing “parish relief” is presented with a 
brace of rabbits. After a big day’s pheas- 
ant shooting at Bellinger I send to the 
local hospitals all the birds that are too 
badly damaged to be marketable, and at 
the New Year I generally despatch a 
couple of pheasants or a hare to the vicar 
of Thorley as well as to the stationmaster. 

Though a Conservative in politics I 
have always been intensely interested in 
social problems, and should like to see 
something definite done to better the con- 
dition of the poor. I remember once dis- 


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cussing the whole question with my cou- 
sin, Lord Burfield, one evening, before go- 
ing on to the Empire to see a new ballet 
We dined at a cheap little place near Pic- 
cadilly Circus where one can get an ex- 
cellent meal for under a sovereign, not 
including wine. I told Burfield that I 
had sometimes been rather worried by the 
thought of the number of people poorer 
than myself, of the vast amount of starva- 
tion and poverty that still existed in the 
world. He cheered me a good deal, how- 
ever, by saying that social inequalities had 
always existed and always would exist, 
and that it was a great mistake to think 
too much about things which nothing 
could possibly remedy. It was an immu- 
table decree of Providence that there 
should be rich and poor, he said, and the 
position must be accepted. I remember 
remarking that I had often wondered how 
poor labourers on my own estate could 
keep their wives and children on wages 
which often amounted to a bare eighteen 
shillings a week. Burfield assured me that 
living was very cheap in the country, and 


317 


LORD BELLINGER 


food ridiculously inexpensive, and that 
the poor were a thriftless lot whom it was 
a crime to pamper. If you raised their 
wages, he said, they only spent the ad- 
vance on drink. A labourer with an 
eighteen shilling wage and a clever wife 
could easily manage to put by sixpence a 
week, if he were economical and did not 
eat meat; and at the end of the year he 
would be the possessor of more than a 
pound, with which he might subscribe to 
some fund that should provide him with 
a pension when overwork and lack of 
proper sustenance had rendered him no 
longer able to earn his living. Burfield 
himself owns a large property in one of 
the poorest districts in London — it is man- 
aged for him, ably (I believe) but some- 
what rigorously, by a man called Eck- 
stein. He therefore knows what he is 
talking about, and I was much interested 
in his views. Any further discussion of 
the subject was put a stop to by the dis- 
covery that our second bottle of cham- 
pagne was slightly corked. It was a good 
wine — costing seventeen shillings the bot- 
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tie — and we were half way through it be- 
fore we found out that something was 
wrong with it. By the time we had re- 
buked the waiter and finished the new 
bottle with which the bad one was re- 
placed, it was time to go on to the Empire, 
and we had to postpone the discussion of 
social problems to some more suitable 
occasion. 

It must not be imagined that my whole 
time was given up to the consideration of 
domestic affairs which, however impor- 
tant to myself and my dependants, can- 
not be regarded as of vital moment to my 
country. My duties as hereditary legis- 
lator soon called me to the House of 
Lords, and when I had once taken my 
seat in that august assembly I became a 
regular attendant at debate. 

Proud as I am of that Upper Chamber 
which so conscientiously carries out the 
will of the people whenever a Conserva- 
tive government is in power, or, when the 
Radicals are in office, saves the nation 
from the consequences of its own folly, I 
must truthfully admit that there is about 
319 


LORD BELLINGER 


it an atmosphere which is anything but 
stimulating to a speaker. I delivered my 
maiden speech to an audience composed 
of the Lord Chancellor, the Clerks at the 
Table and seven peers — two of whom left 
abruptly after I had been speaking but a 
short half hour — and this rather dreary 
experience did not tempt me to any fur- 
ther flights of oratory. I found, indeed, 
that my party Whips were seldom anx- 
ious for any of the younger men to speak; 
we had too many orators on our side al- 
ready, they told me, and it has never been 
the policy of the Lords to prolong debate 
unduly or to extend it beyond the dinner 
hour. In this respect the Upper House 
presents a singular contrast to the Com- 
mons, where time is freely wasted in fu- 
tile eloquence which has no effect what- 
soever on the result of divisions. We 
Lords are a businesslike body, and often 
take less than a week to throw out some 
Radical Bill which the Commons have 
debated for several months. Again, when 
the Conservatives are in power, an im- 
portant and complicated piece of legisla- 


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tion is sometimes passed by the Upper 
House without amendment, in a single 
day. Nothing, in fact, is so marked as 
the practical manner in which the Lords 
— so often wrongly accused of lethargy — 
will, so to speak, wake up at the end of 
a session, when the holidays are ap- 
proaching, and either pass Conservative 
measures or reject Liberal measures with 
a celerity and unanimity that are alto- 
gether admirable. 

It must not be thought from what I 
have said that the debates in the Lords are 
always distinguished by sparse attend- 
ance and a lack of oratory. On great oc- 
casions, as for instance when some impor- 
tant Radical Bill which has passed the 
Commons by a huge majority is sent up 
to be thrown out, the Gilded Chamber is 
filled to overflowing with those peers who 
are ready to sacrifice comfort and con- 
venience, at least once a year, in the cause 
of Empire. 

The first occasion of this kind when I 
attended the debate was made peculiarly 
interesting to me, not only by the sight of 


321 


LORD BELLINGER 


all those eminent men unselfishly gath- 
ered together for Imperial purposes, but 
by the opportunity it afforded me of re- 
newing the acquaintance of many whom 
I had not seen since I left Eton. It was 
then that I met Lord Whitchurch, who 
had been my fag at school and was still 
more famous afterwards for having run 
through three immense fortunes in less 
than three years. His third term of bank- 
ruptcy was, I am glad to say, at an end, 
and he was thus once more able to take 
his place among his fellow legislators. 
Lord Byfleet, too, I was pleased to see, for 
his eccentricities of conduct have caused 
him to spend too much of his life in re- 
tirement in a Home. Though a Court of 
Law has adjudged him unfit to manage 
his own affairs. Byfleet is a very good fel- 
low at heart, and it was pleasant to know 
that an occasional release from that re- 
straint imposed upon him by his relations 
would allow him to record his vote in the 
Imperial Legislature. I could not but 
regret the fact, however, that he insisted 
upon occupying a prominent place on the 


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front Opposition bench, as his habit of 
sitting with his eyes shut and his tongue 
hanging out of his mouth adds little to 
the dignity of his appearance. 

Among those with whom I could not 
claim acquaintanceship but was never- 
theless interested to see were many celeb- 
rities of whom I had often read. Among 
these were the leaders on both sides, able, 
brilliant, painstaking men, inspired by 
a strong sense of duty to themselves — the 
solid backbone upon which the House 
and the nation can always depend — to say 
nothing of other less able but more notori- 
ous peers. Here, for instance, was Lord 
Slaugham, with whom divorce has be- 
come more of a habit than an event — his 
marriage with his fourth wife was quite 
one of the most interesting of last year’s 
society functions ; Lord Thrapstone, who 
was found guilty of writing a friend’s 
name upon a cheque, and bound over to 
come up for judgment if called upon, it 
being rightly considered that the shame of 
committing such a crime was a sufficient 
punishment for a man of his social stand- 


323 


LORD BELLINGER 


ing; Lord Blisworth, who, on the strength 
of possessing an acre of land and two 
gum-trees in the West Indies, floated the 
Yumata Rubber Company whose collapse 
ruined so many domestic servants. Here 
too, was Lord Lythe and Saythe (former- 
ly Sir Benjamin Salmon), who so gener- 
ously offered to subscribe £50,000 to the 
scheme for a National Opera House, on 
condition that a thousand other people 
would do the same; old Lord Bletchley, 
who, though eighty-nine years of age and 
mentally deficient, is still able to touch 
his toes with his fingers without bending 
his knees; the eccentric Lord Meopham 
who shot his coachman in the back with 
a revolver because that domestic happen- 
ed to take a wrong turning in Park Lane ; 
Lord Swaffield, who as Sir Moses Hamil- 
ton earned a worldwide reputation by 
walking down the Duke of York’s steps 
on his hands for a wager; Lord Dun- 
bridge, famous as the husband of Lady 
Dunbridge whose enthusiasm for the 
cause of Woman’s Suffrage has caused her 
to cut her hair off, and to take her meals 


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in a liquid form and exclusively through 
the nose; Lord Brancaster, who as Sir 
Thomas Tilling failed seven times to get 
into parliament — though he stood impar- 
tially on both sides — but who on the death 
of his uncle at last earned the reward of 
patriotism and became a true representa- 
tive of the people ; and a host of others. 

I felt it a great privilege to be included 
in an assemblage so representative of 
every class of thought and adorned by 
such an interesting and varied collection 
of persons. Though I was not fated to 
see most of them again until quite recently 
when they rallied once more to withstand 
the machinations of a socialistic govern- 
ment, I have always cherished an affec- 
tionate memory of the unique experience 
which, coming as it did at the very outset 
of my political career, provided me with 
an admirable opportunity of appreciating 
the full grandeur and perfection of our 
great Constitutional system. 


325 


CHAPTER XIL 


THE END. 

I SPENT the next twelve months of my 
life quietly but enjoyably at home. It did 
not take me very long to grow accustomed 
to my newly acquired honours, to the 
respect with which I was treated by so- 
cial inferiors and the deference which my 
title evoked from shop-assistants. Owing 
to my recent bereavement I was naturally 
disinclined to join in the gaieties of the 
London season, and religiously kept away 
from theatres, dances and other social 
gatherings. I saw little harm, however, 
in joining with a few familiar friends in 
an occasional party to the Earl’s Court 
Exhibition, whither I was more than once 
privileged to escort Miss Carruthers and 
her father. 

The latter had conceived a passionate 
fancy for a pastime, then much in vogue 
among elderly persons, which was known 
as “Wiggling the Woggle.” This con- 
326 


THE END 


sisted in being rolled down a steep incline 
in a barrel, and proved most amusing to 
the onlookers. I encouraged the aged peer 
in this harmless predilection, and with 
Miss Aline would often sit on a bench at 
the Exhibition for an hour or so after din- 
ner while her father fought his way 
through the surging crowd that was strug- 
gling to pay its sixpences for the privilege 
of being severely woggled. Lord War- 
Wngham spent as much as four shillings 
one evening upon this engaging but rath- 
er violent form of amusement, and return- 
ed to us in a most dishevelled but elated 
condition after his eighth journey in the 
barrel. 

I was also fortunate enough to be alone 
with Miss Carruthers in a car on the 
‘^Great Wheel” on one of the occasions 
when by a merciful dispensation of Provi- 
dence something weat wrong with the 
machinery. The seven hours we spent 
together, at an altitude so great that the 
remarks of Lord Warlingham on the 
ground below failed to reach us, did much 
to cement our friendship. 


337 


LORD BELLINGER 


Lord Warlingham was an enthusiastic 
but indifferent golfer, and would often 
insist upon taking me down to some course 
near London to spend a happy day on the 
links. Besides being a bad player who 
only brought off an occasionally good 
stroke by accident, he was also an extra- 
ordinarily slow one. He took several 
minutes “addressing’’ the ball, having 
previously rehearsed his stroke on an ad- 
jacent tuft of grass, while the whole 
course waited. Another cause of delay 
was his habitual vacillation. He could 
never decide which club to use until he 
had changed his mind on the subject at 
least three times, much to the annoyance 
of his caddy. On the “green” he would 
practise over and over again the “putt” 
he had just missed, regardless of the fury 
of the players behind him, whose game 
was thus indefinitely prolonged. Playing 
with him was consequently a somewhat 
doubtful pleasure which only my devo- 
tion for his daughter rendered tolerable. 

After a day’s golf with Lord Warling- 
ham I sometimes dined at his house, and 


328 


THE END 


thus had further opportunities of meet- 
ing Miss Carruthers. I was also enabled 
to make the acquaintance of Lady Fred- 
erick Hungerton, her aunt, who after- 
wards proved a very useful ally. 

Ever since the death of Lady Warling- 
ham, her widowed sister, Lady Frederick 
Hungerton, had kept house for the be- 
reaved husband and been a nominal moth- 
er to Miss Aline. The passing of the 
Deceased Wife’s Sister Act had caused 
some consternation in the Warlingham 
household, but left its master quite un- 
moved. Prudish friends assured him that 
he could no longer dream of living under 
the same roof as Lady Frederick, now that 
the law had rendered it possible for him 
to make her his wife. But Lord War- 
lingham only laughed, and declined to 
make any change in his mode of life. One 
had only, he said, to look at Lady Freder- 
ick, who certainly possessed but few phy- 
sical attractions, to realise the absurdity 
of imagining that anybody would ever be 
likely to insult her, least of all her own 
brother-in-law. She would be just as safe 


329 


LORD BELLINGER 


now from his advances as she had been 
at any time during the last four years, and 
that was saying a good deal. 

Lady Frederick herself was rather up- 
set, but a consultation with the Rev. Theo- 
bald Gudgeon, the High Church clergy- 
man to whom she occasionally confessed, 
reassured her. Father Gudgeon would 
not admit the possibility of any marriage 
with a deceased wife’s sister. Was she 
not, in the eyes of the Church, flesh of her 
brother-in-law’s flesh and bone of his 
bone? He took the opportunity of de- 
nouncing in no measured terms those un- 
fortunate persons, in the Colonies and 
elsewhere, who were misguided enough 
to contravert such a statement. He knew 
Lady Frederick too well, he said, to sus- 
pect her of harbouring any leanings to- 
wards matrimony; she would certainly 
never be attracted by any relationship of 
which the Church disapproved so 
strongly. 

Lady Frederick Hungerton was one of 
those timid, retiring women who are m- 
tende4 by Nature to remain spinsters. 


330 


THE END 


Married life had never agreed with her^ 
and at her husband’s death she had as- 
sumed a widow’s cap with a feeling of 
distinct relief. 

Lord Frederick Hungerton had been a 
large and rather brusque individual, who 
smoked his pipe all over the house, and 
shouted at the servants. His wife on the 
other hand was a delicate piece of Dres- 
den ware, and trembled at the very sound 
of the heavy (and often muddy) tread of 
her husband’s boots upon the drawing- 
room carpet. The alliance of this ill- 
matched pair was about as appropriate as 
that of a bull and a china-shop, and when 
Lord Frederick succumbed to gout at the 
age of sixty-eight he left his wife a con- 
firmed widow. He did not leave her 
much else, however, and on the death of 
her sister. Lady Warlingham, she gladly 
availed herself of her brother-in-law’s 
kindly offer that she should come and 
live with him and manage his domestic 
affairs. 

Lady Frederick might truthfully have 
been styled the Queen of Commonplace. 


LORD BELLINGER 


She was never at a loss for an unoriginal 
remark, uttered with smile of quiet tri- 
umph which raised the dreariest truism 
to the level of an epigram, without rob- 
bing it of its natural dignity as a platitude. 
She had, indeed, reduced conversation of 
the fluent obvious type to an exact science, 
so that all who knew her well could anti- 
cipate her criticisms with absolute cor- 
rectness. She never wearied of declaring 
that there was nothing so cheerful as a 
wood fire, that the poor were always with 
us, that the carrying of an umbrella was 
sufficient to prevent rain, that it was im- 
possible to shake off a summer cold or to 
obtain good coffee in England, and was 
continually expressing surprise at the 
smallness of the world. “This soup’’ she 
would say at the beginning of dinner, “is 
a meal in itself” ; or “The only way to get 
workmen out of the house is to move in 
oneself”; or “I suppose we shall all be 
flying soon.” 

She was the victim of frequent bouts of 
devotion, and would periodically retire 
into a “Home” kept by a worthy Protes- 


332 


THE END 


tant sisterhood, under the superintendence 
of Father Gudgeon, where she underwent 
a refreshing course of religious rest cure. 

Lady Frederick and I soon became fast 
friends. I often called at tea-time to dis- 
cuss the Education Bill with her, and was 
easily persuaded that Nonconformist rate- 
payers deserved neither pity for them- 
selves nor instruction for their children. 

When I suggested taking Miss Aline to 
a concert or a picture gallery. Lady Fred- 
erick very nobly undertook the duties of 
chaperone, though neither form of enter- 
tainment appealed to her. One morning, 
indeed, she was much shocked at being 
dragged to a small gallery in Bond Street 
where a number of paintings of the im- 
pressionist school of thought were being 
exhibited by a French artist whose sole 
claim to recognition lay in his persistent 
inability to obtain any kind of encourage- 
ment at the hands of the hanging com- 
mittee of the Paris Salon. His pictures 
for the most part represented atmospheric 
effects of sunset and dawn — the main re- 
sults of the artist’s efforts suggesting to- 


333 


LORD BELLINGER 


mato salads or sections of a peculiarly 
unhealthy brand of cheese — and were ex- 
tremely popular among all true lovers of 
art. One in particular that attracted an 
unusual amount of attention was the por- 
trait of a woman of uncertain years and 
character who appeared to be suffering 
from some species of acute mind trouble, 
and was represented as seated at a small 
table contemplating a glass containing a 
bilious green fluid of which she had ap- 
parently been partaking by suction with 
the aid of a straw. This was a clever pic- 
ture, but Lady Frederick could hardly 
bear to stay in the same room with it. 

One Sunday morning in June, about a 
year after my succession to the title, I hap- 
pened to take up the newspaper after 
breakfast. My eye was at once arrested 
by a head-line which was not then as 
common as it has since become. 

PEER TO WED ACTRESS 

were the words that attracted my atten- 
tion and forced me to read on. ‘‘Many 
congratulations (I read) are being show- 


334 


THE END 


ered upon Miss Peril Berkeley of the 
Minerva Theatre whose romantic en- 
gagement to the Earl of Banchory has 
just been announced. Miss Berkeley is 
well known to the public as a talented 
member of the Minerva Musical Com- 
edy Company which, under the able di- 
rection of Mr. John Williams, has re- 
cently achieved so notable a success with 
^The Girl from Over the Sea.’ During 
the run of this piece, now in its fourth 
year, she has understudied Miss Ger- 
trude Hamilton in the part of Therese on 
two occasions, and by her rendering of 
those deservedly popular songs ‘‘Snow- 
drops” and “Kiss me and I’ll kiss you,” 
has evinced great dramatic promise. We 
understand, however, that on her mar- 
riage Miss Berkeley (who in private life 
is known to her friends as Miss Ada Wil- 
kins) intends to bid farewell to the foot- 
lights. Her fiance, the Earl of Ban- 
chory, who is the eldest son of the Mar- 
quis of Cantire, is a keen chessplayer and 
big-game hunter, and his collection of 
picture-postcards is generally considered 


335 


LORD BELLINGER 


to be the finest in the world. He was 
for two years a second-lieutenant in the 
5th (Militia) Battalion of the Loyal East 
Hunts Fusiliers, but resigned his Com- 
mission just before the South African 
War. Lord Banchory’s family is one of 
the oldest in the Kingdom, and he will 
eventually inherit Drumcleugh Castle, 
Perth; Hamley Place, Lincoln; Claver- 
ton Hall, Surrey; Drumwhistle Lodge, 
Oban; Ravenscourt, Glos; Stourton Ab- 
bey, Lancs; Castle Larney, Co. Mayo, 
Ireland; and Rhiywgollen, Wales.” 

I threw the paper down with a cry of 
joy. At last I could be certain that Miss 
Carruthers had rejected her cousin, that 
the marriage between them would never 
take place, and that she was free. I felt 
as though a heavy load had been lifted 
from my breast. 

Since our transatlantic journey Miss 
Aline and I had never discussed the ques- 
tion of her quasi-engagement. I had been 
on the point of broaching the subject once 
or twice, but had felt instinctively that 
she did not wish to talk about it, and that 


336 


THE END 


I should be wiser to remain silent. Ha- 
zelton, however, had met Lord Banchory 
at a dance given at the Savoy by a num- 
ber of ladies of the Musical Comedy 
stage, and told me that, as far as he could 
judge, the young peer showed no signs of 
allowing his love for Miss Aline, if it ex- 
isted, to absorb his whole attention. I 
was therefore inclined to hope that by a 
patient and persistent display of devotion 
I might yet win the reward which I 
sought so diligently. 

On the afternoon of this same Sunday 
I had promised to take Miss Aline and 
her aunt Lady Frederick Hungerton to 
the Zoological Gardens to inspect a new 
chimpanzee which was being much talk- 
ed about in society. I had been invited 
to luncheon at Lord Warlingham’s house, 
and during that meal I noticed that his 
daughter seemed to be unusually silent 
and depressed. In the afternoon Lady 
Frederick motored us down to Regent’s 
Park. 

We arrived there soon after three 
o’clock and shortly afterwards Miss Car- 


337 


LORD BELLINGER 


ruthcrs and I managed very cleverly to 
lose our chaperone in the Sloth House, 
where I regret to say she spent most of the 
afternoon with no other sustenance than 
that which could be derived from a bag 
of nuts which I had pressed into her hand 
at parting. 

Miss Aline and I meanwhile found a 
quiet bench near the larger mammals, and 
were so engrossed in conversation that we 
did not become aware of the passage of 
time until a neighbouring clock chimed 
seven. We then hastily made our way 
to the North Entrance where we found 
poor Lady Frederick in a state of utter 
collapse. She had reached her last nut, 
and, after searching for us high and low 
for four hours, was beginning to think 
that we must have fallen victims to some 
anthropophagous creature, and that she 
would have to return alone to break the 
news to the family. We cheered her up 
as best we could, and though at first in- 
clined to repel our apologies, she quickly 
relented when we told her the good tid- 
ings which we had originally intended to 
338 


THE END 


keep secret until we had obtained Lord 
Warlingham’s consent. 

There are some things too sacred to be 
put on paper, and I have no intention of 
describing the final stages of my court- 
ship, culminating in the sublime moment 
when I proposed once more to Aline and 
was accepted. What I said on that occa- 
sion is known to two individuals only — if 
we except the hippopotamus which ap- 
peared to regard the proceedings with un- 
usual interest from the corner of its grated 
paddock — and will never be divulged to a 
wider circle. It is enough for the reader 
to be told that Aline and I became en- 
gaged that afternoon at the Zoo, that the 
engagement was announced the next day 
in the Morning Post, and that two months 
later we were made man and wife, when 
Ginger Hazel ton, although he never quite 
forgave me for cutting him out, con- 
sented to be my “best man.’’ 

The marriage ceremony was performed 
three times; first of all at the Brompton 
Oratory, to satisfy the claims of Lord 
Warlingham’s family, who were Roman 


339 


LORD BELLINGER 


Catholics; secondly at St. Margaret’s, 
Westminster, to please my Aunt, Lady 
Preston, who was a devout Protestant and 
very wealthy; and lastly at a Registry 
Office, to make things quite safe. 

^Well, my boy,’^ said my uncle. Sir 
Claud Ventrigorm, greeting me with a 
slap on the back as, with Aline and Haz- 
elton, I descended the steps of the last- 
named institution, “How’s the world 
treating you, eh? One doesn’t get 
married every day of one’s life, eh 
what?” 

“Bellinger seems to!” replied Ginger 
somewhat humorously, as he helped 
Aline into the motor. 

That afternoon my wife and I left for 
Paris en route for Fontainebleau where 
the first week of our married life was to 
be spent. When at length we reached the 
bright little sitting-room in the Hotel des 
Princes and found ourselves alone, with 
the door tightly shut upon us. Aline turn- 
ed to me and held out her arms. I bent 
down and kissed her, and then put my 
arms round her and kissed her again. 


340 


THE END 


^Tsn’t it perfectly wonderful?” I asked. 
“It’s the most wonderful thing in the 
world!” said Lady Bellinger. 

THE END. 


INDEX* 


Abergeldie. See Aberlochie ! 

Aberladdie. See Abernethy ^ j 

Aberlochie. See Abergeldie ! 

Abernethy. See Aberladdie i 

yEneas takes farewell of Dido 
in the summer-house, 155 
Africa, South, seat of war, 176 
Albert Memorial. See Bellin- 
ger Hall 

Allencourt, Mademoiselle. See 
Finesherbes, the Vicomte de 
Amelie, Occupe-toi d’. See 
Zeltinger, Lady 
“Animal Grab,” played at Bel- 
linger Hall, 121 
Apiculture, Lord Bellinger in- 
terested in, 37 

Aram, Eugene, sets forth to 
Bow Street, 129 
Arnold, Matthew, views on 
woman, 205 

Asylum for Eastern Poten- 
tates. See Bellinger Hall 
Aurelius, Marcus, stimulating 
effect of his epigrams, 84 
Avebury, Lord. See Lubbock, 
Sir John 

Badminton Library. See Eng- 
lish Literature 

Balch, Wilbur P., the Chew- 
gum King, acquires Bellin- 
ger Hall, 15 

Bananas, intolerability of, 200 
Bananners. See Bananas 
Banchory, Earl of, half-witted 
condition of, 210; unat- 
tractive nature of remaining 


half, 210; wealth of, 215; 
claims to place in Conserva- 
tive Ministry, 215; engaged 
to Miss Peril Berkeley, 220 

Bassano, Herr, his Pink Vien- 
nese Band, 121 

“Bees: Their Treatment in 
Sickness and in Health.” 
See Apiculture 

Belfry, presence of bats in, sus- 
pected, 171 

Bellinger, Ermyntrude, Lady 
Bellinger (see also Blomynge 
and Bulkinghorne), mar- 
riage, 22; her ambition, 24; 
her kindness to the lower 
orders, 48 

Bellinger, Hon. Hugo Claud, 
his wives, 45; as an amateur 
conjuror, 45; perishes at 
Monte Carlo, 

Bellinger Hall, a noble pile, 
compared to the Crystal 
Palace, 116; to the Imperial 
Institute, ibid.; to Bucking- 
ham Palace, ibid. 

Bellinger, John Albert, First 
Baron Bellinger, 19; Knight 
Harbinger of Primrose 
League, 22 ; courtship and 
marriage, 22-23; his family, 
23 ; elected to Parliament, 
25 ; raised to the peerage, 
25 ; Minister of Agriculture, 
30; President of Board of 
Education, 31 ; his piety, 
49; death, 200. 


*For correct page references see the English Edition. 


342 


LORD BELLINGER 


Bellinger, Sir Percy, marries 
Miss Berridge, 19 ; his natural 
modesty, 21 ; his apoplectic 
demise, 21 

Bellinger, Richard de la Poer 
Tracy, Second Baron Bel- 
linger, birth, 23 ; his interest 
in family prayers, 50 ; his 
early education, 56; at Eton, 
57; enters the army, 70; goes 
abroad, 219; succeeds to the 
title, 305 ; his marriage, 339 
Bellinger, Hon. William Albert 
Edward, enters the Church, 
38 ; mission to Chinese 
heathen, 42 ; converts three 
native children in eight 
years, 43 ; marriage and mar- 
tyrdom, 43 

Bellinger, Hon. Victoria, ill- 
ness of, 64 

Berkeley, Miss Peril. See 
Wilkins, Ada 

Berridge, Miss Elizabeth. See 
Bellinger, Sir Percy 
Bickers, Miss, her softhearted- 
ness, no 

Biddulph, Lady Matilda, 208; 

loses her husband, 209 
Bismarck, epigram of, 61 
Black bread, appreciation of, by 
Royal Family, 21 1 
Bletchley, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, octogenarian ac- 
tivity of, 

Blisworth, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, dubious financial 
speculations, 

Blomynge, Hon. Ermyntrude. 

See Bellinger, Lady 
Bluffshire, Lady, her ball at 
Leominster House, 94 
Blusterton, G. K., quoted, 33 
Bognor, Duchess of, her bon 
mot, 1 18 


Bolquhoun. See Bulkinghorne 
Botticelli’s Madonna, photo- 
graph of, at Bellinger Hall, 
146 

Bovril, mode of manufacture. 
Bramble, Aberdeen terrier, his 
indoor manners ; salvage 
work by, 157 

Brancaster, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, his political im- 
partiality, 246; See Tilling, 
Sir Thomas 
Bray, Bishop of, 13 
Bridge, a card game played at 
Bellinger Hall, 87 
Broadmoor Convict Prison, 
beautiful view of, 39 
Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic 
Asylum, its picturesqueness, 

40 

Brown, Colonel, absolute de- 
mise of, 209 

Brown, jEvelyn, her loss of 
limbs, 212 

Brown, George, total decrease 
of, 210 

Bulkinghorne. See Bolquhoun 
Bull Inn, whisky served at, 159 
Burfield, Lord, his views on 
social reform, 240 
Burling, Lady Mildred, Hazel- 
ton’s early passion for, 219 
Byfleet, Lord, hereditary legis- 
lator, placed under restraint, 
244 

Byron, Lord, author of “Don 
Juan,” 57 

Busby, Dr., his Academy for 
Backward Boys at Broad- 
moor, 39 

Carruthers, Hon. Aline, 202. 
et passim; Lord Bellinger 
proposes to her, 227 


343 


INDEX 


Carruthers, Hon. Constance, 
elopes with Suffragan- 
Bishop, 2oy 

Carter, Alfred, hall porter, 
story of his Christmas din- 
ner, 66 

Carter-Pickford, Mrs., her ma- 
trimonial difficulties, 165 
Cathedral, Hydropathic. See 
Bellinger Hall 

Charing Cross Station, train 
starts punctually from, 89 
“Cheating” played at Bel- 
linger Hall, 88 

Christmas dinner. See Carter, 
Alfred 

Cincinnatus puts his hand to 
the plough, 42 ; declines to 
turn back, 42 

Clanworth, Lord, heroism of, 16 
Conservatives their gentle- 
manlike bearing, 153 
Constitution, upheaval of. See 
Radicals. 

Commonplace book kept by 
Lord Bellinger, 60 
Conduit Street, tailors in, 132 
Cowan, Sir Simeon, 44; worth 
a million and a quarter, 45; 
not safe to kick his son, 45 
Crumpet, barmy on . See 
Belfry, bats in 

Daily Mail read regularly by 
Lord Bellinger, 63. See also 
under Literature 
“Demon Pounce” played at 
Bellinger Hall, 121 
Dulchester, Duchess of, enter- 
tains the King, 139 
Dunbridge, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, husband of Lady 
Dunbridge, 245 

Dvorak, effect of his compo- 
sitions upon card-players, 88 


Edgware Road, fiat in, 137 
Elephants, costliness of, 81 
England, ruin of. See Radicals 

Finesherbes, Vicomte de. See 
Allencourt, Mademoiselle 
Fox, Charles James, bust, 114 

Garvell, General Sir Claud, his 
popularity, 132 ; success as an 
author. 133 note 
Gentlewomen, occasional ine- 
briety of. See Hythe 
German Emperor. See Kaiser 
Goldmann, Sir Isaac, British 
squire, 144; his success upon 
the concert platform, 145 
Gordon, Adam Lindsay, beau- 
ties of, 60 

Graham, Harry, author of In- 
troduction. See Title-page 
Gregson, Canon, 43; his tire- 
some importunity, 44 
Gregson, Hon. R. Bellinger’s 
valet, 89 

Hamilton, Sir Moses, his acro- 
batic feats, 245. See also 
under Swaffield, Lord 
Hazleton, Herbert (afterwards 
Lord Garlich), 52; his ap- 
pearance, 52 ; his amorous 
indiscretions, 168 et passim 
Herzegovina, Crown Princess 
of, her graciousness, 14 
Holloway Prison, wardresses 
bitten by suffragettes, 167 
Homer, his posthumous revo- 
lutions, 42 
Horace, his Odes, 41 
Horseflesh, as pabulum for the 
lower classes, 158 
Hugo, Victor, epigram of, 60 
Huish, Ezra, barrister, 147 ; 
socialistic views of, 148 


344 


LORD BELLINGER 


TIungerton, Lady Frederick, 
her love of epigram, 251 ; 
lost in the Sloth House, 256 
Hythe, Home for Inebriate 
Gentlewomen, at, 39 

Inebriety. See Gentlewomen 
Isidor, Grand Duke, reported 
morganatic alliance of, 190 

Kaiser, the, in league with 
Radical party, 151 
Kimball, Howard P., American 
citizen, 191 

King, Lieutenant, ventrilo- 
quist, imitates opening of 
soda-water bottle, 127 
Kipling, our greatest living 
poet (see also Wilcox, Ella 
Wheeler), 60 

Lambeth, Hon. Richard Bel- 
linger’s attempt to relieve 
destitution in, 82 
Landseer, reproductions of his 
masterpieces at Bellinger 
Hall, 86 

Lothario, his likeness to Alger- 
non Wynne, 57 

Lubbock. Sir John. See Ave- 
bury, Lord 

Lythe and Saythe, Lord, here- 
ditary legislator. See Sal- 
mon, Sir Benjamin 

Macaulay as a poet, 60 
Madeira tasted by the Royal 
Family, 87 

Marius, his impetuous conduct, 
42. 

Meopham, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, disagrees with his 
coachman, 245 

Minting, Mr., his proficiency as 
a bicyclist, 114 
Murton, Mr., stylist, 41 


Nineteenth Century and “The 
Better Treatment of the 
Half-witted,” 37 

Orpington, Lord, his kindness 
to the lower orders, 69 
Otter, moth-eaten, dissects a 
salmon, 97 

Pacchiarotto, and how he 
worked in distemper, 48 
Paddock Green, railway tickets 
collected at, 91 

Parkborough. See Brown, 
Colonel 

Parkford. See Brown, Colonel 
Parkhurst. See Brown, Colonel 
Parkington. See Brown, Colonel 
Parkins. See Brown, Colonel 
Parkwell. See Brown, Colonel 
Patti, Madame, her farewell 
performances, 137 
Pembridge, Lord, his romantic 
marriage, 16. See also Gaiety 
Theatre 

Pentland, Louise, Duchess of 
her hospitable offer, 123 
Percy, the Penguin, 1 14 
Philistines, modern, their taste 
in architecture, 83 
Pink 'Un. See Sporting Times 
Pink Viennese Band. See Bas- 
sano 

Plover, the devout, 172 
Potentates, Asylum for East- 
ern. See Bellinger Hall 
Poth-Hodjges, John, architect 
of Bellinger Hall, 8 
Preston, Mrs., her proficiency 
with the needle, 124 
Prince, black spaniel, sympa- 
thetic behaviour of, 46 

Radicals, their lack of breed- 
ing, 153 ; lack of patriotism 
of, 153; lack of moral sense, 
153 ; lack of decency, 153 


345 


INDEX 


Railway staff officer improp- 
erly dressed, 135 
Ruskin, his brilliant epigram, 
84 

Sabbath, the, observance by 
British citizens, 33 
Salmon, Sir Benjamin. See 
■ Lythe and Saythe, Lord . 
Schopenhauer, readers of, 58 
Scott, Sir Walter, readings 
from, 61 

Sea-shells, collection consigned 
to lumber-room, 86 
Shakespeare admired by Hon. 

R. de la P. T. Bellinger, 59 
Slasham, Conservative strong- 
hold, 144 

Soap-Boilers, Company of, 7 
Soap scandal. See Salving- 
borough 

“Soldiers of the Queen.” See 
Goldmann, Sir Isaac 
South-Eastern expresses, ex- 
traordinary speed and punc- 
tuality of, 94 

Sporting Times. See Pink *Un 
Stair, Miss Elsie, Hazelton’s 
early passion for, 219 
Starr and Garter’s famous 
haberdashery store, 93 
Swaffield, Lord, hereditary leg- 
islator. See Hamilton, Sir 
Moses 

Tariff Reform. See Protection 
Thorley, railway refreshment- 
room, antiquity of its buns, 
95 ; intoxication of its fire- 
brigade, 1 17-120 
Thrapstone, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, forges his friend’s 
name, 245 ; is bound over, 245 
Tilling, Sir Thomas, patriot 


and popular representative, 
246. See Brancaster, Lord 

Tschaikovsky, his composi- 
tions disturb Lord Bellinger’s 
slumbers, 35 

Underground Railway. See 
British Empire 

Vancouver, hotel management 
in, 180 

Vandycks in blankets, 114 

Vanfarden, Mrs. Hosmer, 
omits to divorce third hus- 
band, 190 

Victoria, Queen, Bellinger Hall 
built in reign of, 83 

Warlingham, Lord, his apolo- 
gies, 129; discovers America, 
185-200; his fondness for 
“Wiggling the Woggle,” 248 

Whitchurch, Lord, hereditary 
legislator, thrice bankrupt, 
244 

Wilcox, Ella Wheeler, greatest 
living poet, 60. See Kip- 
ling, Rudyard 

Williams, a scoundrelly Radi- 
cal, 152 

Wolfe falls victorious, 176 

Wotherspoon, Colonel, his 
taste in neckwear, 78 

Wotherspoon, Lady Emily, her 
kindness to the lower orders, 
70 

Wynne, Algernon, 56 

Yorkshire pudding easily swal- 
lowed, 74 

Zeltinger, Lady, her soiree, 141 

Zinc, grandmother’s dental cav- 
ities stopped with, 172 


346 


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